


Under My Skin

by snezh09



Series: Under My Skin [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Emotional Baggage, Even though he's shit at showing it sometimes, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Ian Gallagher & Mandy Milkovich Friendship, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Ian regrets his decisions and pays for them dearly, M/M, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Mickey Milkovich Takes Care of Ian Gallagher, Minor Ian Gallagher/Trevor, Protective Mickey Milkovich, Reunions, Sad Ian Gallagher, Sexual Content, Swearing, because Mickey taking care of Ian is my favorite part about them, but Mickey saves him in the end, ian goes through a lot of shit in this fic, if you count season 8 as canon, it will be dark at times, many words about feelings, takes off from the end of season 7, you have to wait a long time for it though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-05-07 04:09:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 185,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14663004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snezh09/pseuds/snezh09
Summary: A long slow-burn story about Mickey and Ian finding their way back to each other after the end of Season 7.After the border they both believe it's the end of their story. For Mickey it means trying to find a way to live now that his dream from prison has been lost. For Ian it means trying to get his life back on what he believed to be the right track. For both of them it means heartache and loss."The truth is simple no matter how many times he tries to deny it. He loves Ian Gallagher. He will always love Ian Gallagher. He will never give up on Ian Gallagher"





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I did not plan to write this story. It started with a couple of disjointed scenes that popped into my head and that I put on paper for fun. Then a couple of scenes turned into many and I started thinking about publishing it, which meant that I had to write some sort of prologue/back story. And here I am, several months later, with an outline of 30 chapters. 
> 
> My writing style is not that good, really (and English is not my first language if you hadn't noticed), it's long, slow-burn and sometimes repetitive. But that's how the scenes happen in my head and the entire work is pretty much self-indulgence anyway. I never publish what I write, but for some reason I want to publish this work.

***

A beach in Mexico and Ian - two things that had him going in prison. Neither of them has exactly worked out like he used to dream about while lying in his cell every night. But then Mickey is a realist and, despite plenty of evidence to the contrary, not a complete idiot. He knows the damn difference between despair-induced fantasies and real life. 

And he gets to have Ian. For three incredible days against expectations and common sense, he gets to have him. His touch, his smell, his arms around him as they fall asleep and his cock in him as they fuck. And then it's gone, just like _that_ (so fucking quickly, like all Ian related changes in his life). And no matter what a realist part of him is saying, he ends up fucking heartbroken, fucking crashed to tiny little pieces over it. 

The beach is the last thing on his mind after successfully crossing the border. And the funny thing is it's probably successful only because he's so fucked up over Ian that he almost doesn't care if he makes it. He's not nervous or anxious or any of the things that he probably should be and that would have arisen suspicions. To be either would require caring about the future and his stayed behind. Mickey just gets in the car and drives, past the border and further down the road.

He keeps driving until the wig and the dress become incredibly uncomfortable, so he must stop and change, wipe make up off his face. He sees his own reflection in the back mirror and freezes quickly. The memory comes unbidden to his mind. 

_"Doesn’t mean I’m gonna wear a fucking dress or anything”_

_“Nobody asked you to. Though you do have really nice legs”_

_"You are a fucking dick"_

A laugh escapes him, then another and another until his entire body is shaking with it. He has to drop his head onto the steering wheel because he literally can’t hold it up; can only gasp and gasp trying to get enough air into his lungs. It hurts and it lasts forever and when it’s over there is no fucking relief. A glance at the panel indicates that half an hour passed without him even realizing it. He pulls himself together as best as he can _(“Fuck you, Gallagher!”_ ), turns the mirror away so he doesn’t have to see himself and gets back on the road.

Which ends up with him on the beach anyway, because that's been the fucking plan and the road to the coast (Caribbean - despite Damon endless advocating for Pacific - because it's the closest to the border) is etched in his brain from hours spent in the fucking prison library staring at maps. 

So, he also gets to have the beach. Gets there at dusk, buys a bottle of cheap tequila, sits on the sand, breathes in fresh air. Sleeps in the car and wakes up to the sun rising over endless blue waters, so fucking beautiful he thinks he finally gets what all the fuss is about. He takes of his clothes and goes for a dip. It's cold, the salt burns his eyes and sticks weirdly to his skin, but he loves the feeling of the water around him, of freedom. For a moment he's almost ... content _(“Fuck you, Gallagher!”_ )

The problem with the beach, he realizes in a couple of days, is that it's fucking full of people, particularly Americans, particularly Americans on an early spring break. Which doesn't bode well for someone, whose ugly mug had been broadcasted on the federal channels. And despite his general apathy regarding the future the last thing he wants is to give the American authorities satisfaction of finding him. He gets back in the car. 

He kind of likes the ocean, though, and Damon had been raving about the "untouched" Pacific coast so he turns to the west. At this point he realizes that Mexico is a fucking big country because it takes a while to cross it. Mickey... kind of likes it too. Moving, just being on the road feels fucking good after being confined to a small grey space for over a year of his life. It helps that the scenery is mostly gorgeous, and driving on unfamiliar roads requires constant focus so there is not enough space in his mind for anything else.

He makes a detour to Mexico City, finds a shady car dealership and exchanges his car for a white Ford jeep, old and worn out, but in a good condition. He doesn't speak Spanish and the owner tries to reap him off majorly, but enough of his south side I-will-fuck-you-up-in-a-really-bad-way persona must show through, because the deal goes his way. He uses some of the cash to buy a gun from a couple of kids behind some bar. Just in case. The locals seem to be pretty serious people and being brought up Milkovich has taught him that one should be ready to deliver on fuck-you-up when it comes to serious people. Besides, he needs to be prepared in case the authorities ever do catch up with him. Because there is no fucking way he's going back inside. 

That's one thing that is crystal clear to him, even while everything else is muddled in his head. And that's why he leaves Mexico City behind. Because he could stay, use his newly acquired gun and his south side training and his desperation to earn a place here. He sees half a dozen ways that could work out for him - from car dealership to the alley. But he doesn't know how much time he has left and he would rather not spend it fighting over a little piece of turf with a bunch of assholes. 

He gets back on the road, feeling freer now in his new car. He takes his time, keeps the windows open the entire time, smokes strong local cigarettes, listens to fucking corny Spanish music on the radio. It's the first time in his life he's driving somewhere without a purpose, any other than just reaching his destination. It feels like freedom ( _“Fuck you, Gallagher”)._

Pacific coast is beautiful, ragged and relaxed, greener and bluer than anything Mickey has ever see in his life. It's in no way deserted, however, and Mickey doesn't feel safe enough to stay in one place. That's fine though. He wants to see more of it anyway so he drives south. For most part he manages to keep any other thoughts out of his head _(“Fuck you, Fuck you to hell and back, Gallagher!”_ )

It's been less than a week since he crossed the border, but it already feels like forever ago. He sleeps with a gun under his pillow, scans anyone crossing his path with suspicion and watches out for his image in the papers and on TVs. But there are more soap operas and sports than news on the bar screens here and people are too used to Americans to pay him any notice. 

And then one morning he stops on the top of a pretty hill with a killer ocean view. It's fucking magnificent and before he realizes he's turning right towards the passenger seat and opening his mouth and... Ian's not there. Of course, he's not there, has never been  _there_. Mickey knows it, he's not insane. The words _"Not fucking bad at all, huh, tough guy?"_ are just an instinctive reaction of his brain to seeing something exciting, something he wants to share with Ian. But he can't. And - he realizes it right now, on top of a fucking hill in fucking Mexico - he won't be able to, ever again. For a moment, he wishes he was back in his cell in prison, still dreaming, still without any way to face reality. 

After that, it's not the same. He could continue driving till he reaches the other side of the country, till maybe he reaches the other side of the continent, wherever the hell it is. But what would be the fucking point?

He turns away from the coast, drives down some local roads. A couple of hours later he finds what he's looking for - a village, a run-down looking restaurant advertising cheap beer and even cheaper rooms for rent above. He mentally calculates how much the couple thousand dollars in his pocket will last him, realizes it's longer than he's willing to look ahead to. Parks his car, goes inside, sits at the bar and orders a shot of tequila. His limbs feel heavy, his head stuffed with wet paper and nasty thoughts and the only thing he wants in the world is to stop feeling. Fucking Ian Gallagher... 

 

***

Being back in Chicago feels strange. He's been only gone a couple of days, enough so his family doesn't even notice (when have they ever, though, he thinks somewhat bitterly) but it feels like forever has passed in that time. His mother's dead, his relationship with Trevor ruined, a pound of meth suddenly falls into his lap. It's enough to get anyone's head spinning. 

The loss of Monica hurts, more than he expects it to. His beautiful, messed up mother, who had been there for him in one way or another during the most crucial moments of his life. Saving him and damaging him at the same time. The last words he had said to her, their last encounter - it haunts him. 

And he regrets hurting Trevor, deeply, because if there is one person who doesn't deserve this kind of thing it's his boyfriend. And - disregarding their search for sexual compatibility - it's the easiest, least dramatic relationship he's ever had in his life. 

But it's more than that. Coming home should have made him feel safe. Because, grief and regret aside, he comes back to a stable life. He's still an EMT with good career prospects, he's mentally stable, good at taking his meds, following his regime. And his family for the first time in forever feels strong and stable, without any major disaster looming over their heads. It's the life he's fought for, it's who he is now. Coming home is supposed to feel like coming  _home_. 

Instead it feels foreign, like he's trying to put on clothes he hasn't worn for several years. They are the right size, but they are a bit too loose here, a bit too tight there. _"It's not who I am any more"_ he said to Mickey and meant it. Thought that he knew who he is now, how he wants to live his life. He has only been gone a couple of damn days! And now he's back in Chicago and he can't find himself. 

That evening he sits at the kitchen table with Lip, drinks beer (going over his usual limit of maximum two bottles, but he doesn’t think he can do it sober) and opens up about Mexico. Lip's response is different to what he expects. He waits for Lip to judge him, to support his decision, to call him out on his cruelty, to sympathize with his conflict - anything to acknowledge that something important and difficult happened, damn it. Fuck, a simple “it must have sucked, man” would do.  

Instead his brother is relaxed and slightly sarcastic, like he find the whole thing so normal and funny It angers Ian a little bit and he wants to wipe the smirk off his face when Lip is making fun of what his life in the tropics would have been like. His brother is a wise ass, but it's not a fucking joke. It's Mickey’s life and freedom and he had risked it all for Ian. Ian abandoned the man he used to love, maybe still loves, more than anything and it was not fucking easy.

And then he’s also illogically - the entire fucking thing is so illogical - offended, because how can Lip so easily believe that Ian would go with Mickey? Doesn't he see how much Ian changed, how difficult it was to turn his entire life around, how much sacrifice it required? 

Or was he the only one deluding himself? Back then, when the meds induced fog in his head started to lift and feelings started to creep into his body, he realised that the only way for him to survive under their onslaught was to separate completely from his past self. Impulsive, unmedicated, full of crazy ideas and dreams, whoring himself out for 50 bucks in the back room of a gay club, willing to do anything for love - that person was locked away behind a strong impenetrable wall. His new self with medication regime, realistic aspirations, healthy stable relationships, tight control over his feelings and actions emerged instead. And with time Mickey and a dozen other issues and dreams, everything that was left on the other side of the wall, it all started to feel so far away, like another life altogether. 

Until the day Mickey walks back into his life and the strong impenetrable wall crumbles as if it is made of glass at the mere mention of his name. Ian resists, of course, oh how he resists, gets angry, wows not to let Mickey destroy his new life. But it’s useless, has always been useless, because from the moment he looked up to watch Mickey lift a crowbar over his head until the moment Ian stopped being Ian, one thing he could never do was resist Mickey. The shit-talking bitch-slapping piece of Southside trash draws him like the magnet, just as he did when they were stupid lost kids. One kiss, one fucking kiss and ... puff... Ian is  _Ian_  again. He latches onto Mickey like a starving man, onto the feel of him, the smell of him, his entire fucking being. And God the witness he can’t let him go even if he has to follow him till the end of the Earth… And so, he does.

But then all other issues spring up in his mind, fears and insecurities and Ian starts to remember why he built the wall in the first place. Thinks that maybe Mickeys return is more like opening a door, a temporary window in his old life. He forces himself to resist the hunger, to let go. He expects it to hurt but doesn't realize  _how much_  until Mickey's pulling away from him, until the rail is closing behind Mickey's car. 

 _"It's for the best"_ he thinks convinced that it will pass, when he gets back to Chicago, builds up the wall again, fits back into his new identity. 

But he's fucking wrong. Something's broken now. His new life is still there if only he knew how to fucking live it. He tries to repair the wall and finds that it’s been blown to pieces so small you can’t even find them. And there is nothing now to protect him from his past self, his dreams and desires. Ian realizes that maybe this new persona and new life were an illusion all along. It's  _Ian_  who goes to the border, _Ian_ who fucks Mickey, _Ian_ who shares a blanket under the stars with him. There is no fucking new Ian or old Ian, there is only himself. And if it's true, if he's still the same person, then how the fuck is he supposed to live this new life, without Mickey? 

The wall is broken and Ian wishes more than anything that he could build it back up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing that I want to address is the timeline. Shameless canon timeline does not make any sense from season 5 onward (or at least it did not to me), but that's how it works in my head and this fic.  
> Mar'15 - Gallavich get together and Yev is born (end of season 4)  
> Late Oct'15 - Ian breaks up with Mickey and he gets arrested  
> Late spring'16 - Ian becomes EMT, Frannie is born, Fiona's wedding not-happens  
> Summer/Autumn/early winter'16 - Season 7 happens, Ian breaks up with Caleb, meets Trevor  
> February'17 - Mickey escapes prison


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next couple of chapters will be dealing with the start of Mickey's journey in Mexico, so we won't be seeing much of Ian.

 

_March 2017, Mexico_

 

He blames fucking Antonio with his fucking sense of honour. Or Antonio's excellent tequila. 

 

***

His days at Santa Theresa del Suarez - the village he ends up in - go by predictably. He sleeps till noon in a tiny bedroom with no glass in a window and a crinkly old fan in place of air conditioning, goes down to the bar, finds a quiet table and orders his first drink of the day. Then another and another until 6 pm, at which point he eats something to keep himself going and switches to hard liquor. He stays downstairs until bar closes at 2 am before staggering back up the stairs. Rinse and repeat, nice little pattern. The only decision he has to make is whether it's cool enough to sit outside today or is he better off sticking to the dark insides of the main room. Otherwise, he manages to keep his brain pleasantly blank and numb from alcohol.

He doesn't talk with anybody, nobody talks with him. But despite his self-imposed isolation he can't help but notice things and learn about people. 

The place belongs to a Mexican family, big, chaotic and loud. The father, Antonio, a robust guy in his late thirties, manages the place, works the bar, does the books. Everyone coming in greets him by name, which is the only reason Mickey knows it. A couple of women - a wife and a relative, he assumes - cook and clean. They run around all day long, always chatting and laughing, always carrying something around, always banging with the pots and plates. The kids - a couple of girls and a boy -  help to serve the customers on busy evenings and just randomly run around during the day, laughing, shouting, playing with a ball the way normal kids do (or at least he thinks normal kids do things like that). Occasionally he catches the boy - small, dark haired (Jorge? Juan?) staring at him curiously, but he's clearly been told to stay away from the scary stranger because he never approaches. 

He probably presents a scary picture - he hasn't shaved since he's arrived and a weeks’ worth of stubble is covering his cheeks; the only time he steps under a shower is to get relief from heat.

The bar and restaurant are quiet most of the time except Thursday to Saturday nights, when it feels like most of the village ends here, drinking the cheapest mescal available, singing, laughing, playing card games. The locals shoot him glances occasionally, some suspicious, some curious, some hostile, but they give him a wide berth. 

He doesn't give a damn. Mickey's the only one in the bar who can afford to buy decent alcohol every evening and the only person to rent a room aside from an odd salesman staying a night. As far as he can see, the place needs his business. It's clean to the point of absurdity (he sees one of the women clean the stairs three times a day even though he's the only one using them), and well cared for, but the cracks of old age and too little money are visible everywhere from crooked tables in the bar to the paint chipping off the walls. 

So, nobody bothers Mickey.

Except some assholes. He's into his third shot of tequila that evening and there is a group sitting at the next table. He thinks he hasn't seen them here before, but considering how much alcohol runs through his system these days, it doesn't mean much. He's pretty sure it's the first time they sit nearby, because their loud laughing and drunken slurs grate on his nerves a little.  It's easy to ignore at first, but the drunker they get, the louder the conversation turns.  

He doesn't get a word of what they are saying, but it's easy to guess the general topic - their salacious glances skit over every female in the room. The waitress, one of the owner’s daughters he thinks seems to be getting the most of their attention. She looks apprehensive every time she approaches their corner and tries to keep as much breadth between herself and their table as possible, which makes her press almost against Mickeys table. He purposefully ignores the invasion of his personal space, which is why he misses the moment it happens.

He doesn't know whether it is an inappropriate touch or some crude gesture, but suddenly the girl stumbles back and almost falls on his table. His bottle goes flying drenching him in beer. That fucking gets his attention and he lifts his gaze to glare about to rip her a new one. Which is when he notices how fucking young she is. Thirteen, maybe fourteen years old, tall and pretty. Puberty has been generous to her gifting her with a feminine figure, but her face is still soft and childlike. There is something in the way short bangs of dark hair fall onto her forehead that reminds him painfully of young Mandy. His sister at fourteen though has already lost any signs of vulnerability and learned how to hide fear with aggression. This girl's eyes dart nervously between him and the guys at the table.

“Pardon, senior” she mumbles and he realizes suddenly that maybe she's even more afraid of him. He ignores her and calmly turns towards the idiots at the other table.

“Would. You. Fucking. Watch. Out” he pronounces slowly stressing the "fucking" - Chicago, Mexico or fucking Antarctica, he's pretty sure this word has a well recognizable meaning.

Based on their face expressions it does. One of the guys - the tallest of the bunch, big and nasty looking - steps up to his table. He says something in Spanish, but Mickey ignores him, picks up his beer bottle and returns to staring at the wall. Had the guy had an opportunity to share a prison block with him for 16 months, he would have known what his behaviour means. Instead, the guy seems to interpret it as fear and grows bolder. He puts his palms on the table, leaning over Mickey intimidatingly. His friends laugh quietly in the background, but in his peripheral vision Mickey sees the girl stepping back from them and thinks "smart kid".

The next second his left hand goes flying, finger jabbing into the guy's left eye, while his heel comes down hard on the attackers' toes. The guy cries from pain and surprise, his back arching back and then slouching forward slightly and Mickey uses the momentum to spring up from the chair and slam his head down on the table, once twice, three times. Feels the movement behind him as one of the remaining trio joins the fight. Mickey doesn't give him time to react, descending fast and furious, landing a couple of quick jabs to the jaw and a killer kick in the groin.  The guy falls, clutching his crotch and Mickey turns around quickly expecting attack from the third side, but the other two assholes are frozen in their seats.

Mickey drops his arms. The acceleration drains from him quickly, the fight-induced high short lived. The bar falls silent for a moment as the patrons finally notice what had just happened. Antonio marches towards their corner, expression murderous, backed by a couple of regulars. Everybody starts talking, Antonio, the girl, the locals, but Mickey doesn't care anymore. He sits back at the table, picks up the bottle again, tunes out the Spanish, ignores the looks people give him as they drag the wounded party off the premises. 

A couple of minutes later a bottle of tequila and a shot glass lands in front of him. He never sees a tab for the evening. 

 

***

A couple of days later, Mickey wakes up a little earlier than usual. The fan is swishing above his head, but there is no need for it, really. A light fresh breeze is blowing through the windows. He throws on a shirt and a pair of shorts - probably the same clothes he has worn for the last three days. The ground floor is empty, chairs still perched the tables and not a soul around. No one is tending the bar, no one potters around in the kitchen, no kids playing around. With nothing better to do he goes out to sit down the terrace, finds a sunny spot, pops up his feet on the bannister and lights a cigarette.

A couple of minutes later Antonio pulls up in front of the house in his old pickup truck. It looks as if it's going to burst any moment under the weight of what looks like a hundred boxes of alcohol and food. Mickey watches lazily as the older man starts unloading the goods and carrying them inside. Antonio glances at him briefly as he passes by, but doesn't acknowledge him in any way. On his third trip up the stairs, though, he suddenly stops in front of Mickeys chair and speaks in surprisingly good English

“You know, if you helped me with these boxes, I would be able to get you a drink quicker” He disappears inside without waiting for reply

Mickey glances at his retreating back, then at the truck upfront. His chair is comfortable, the boxes look heavy and he owes shit to no one so there is no logical reason but boredom for why he flicks his unfinished cigarette away and gets up.

Between the two of them they manage to haul everything inside in half an hour. Antonio walks and lifts in a steady well-practiced rhythm and it's easy to fall in tune with him. They work silently and barely acknowledge each other save for an odd direction from Antonio and Mickey appreciates this quiet efficiency. By the time he lifts the last box onto the bar, his arms and back are burning, but it feels surprisingly good. He rotates his neck and shoulders a couple of times, grabs a chair. 

“Coffee?” Antonio comes out of the kitchen with a wet towel around his neck, hands another to Mickey. 

The bar's coffee machine looks older than the owner. It takes as long to get it going as a car parked outside during Chicago winter and it puffs and groans like a seventy years old man trying to get up. But it's best coffee Mickey has ever tried in his life, maybe due to the amount of grounds Antonio puts in. The first sip makes him cringe it's so bitter and he thinks Antonio suppresses a smirk though it's difficult to decipher what's happening on his austere face. For the first time Mickey notices a strong Indian heritage in his features. His head feels clearer than it had in ages and he looks around suddenly curious about the place that had been his haven for the last days. 

“Where is everyone?” He asks. His throat feels dry from disuse; it’s too words too many compared to his usual vocabulary. Antonio looks as if he was expecting a question. 

“Regina, that's my wife, and Theresa, that's her sister, went down to Guadalajara to see their mother” He explains. He talks like he moves, slow and steady “My mother's helping out at my brothers place and the kids are back at school after the spring break”

“It's Monday today” He clarifies as if realizing that Mickey might not know. Which he didn’t. Th ex-con mentally calculates the dates and realises he crossed the border two weeks ago today. It feels longer. 

Antonio pours him another cup “I'm Antonio, by the way, Antonio Guerrero”

Mickey pauses, considers his options. He already knows the guy’s name and it's not like he owes anything to anyone. But there no benefit in lying either. 

“Mickey” He replies simply. His host tilts his head in acknowledgement, doesn't comment on the lack of surname.

He gets up and starts getting the chairs of the table. For some reasons, Mickey gets up to help him. 

“I wanted to thank you, by the way” Antonio says quietly “For what you did for Elisa. I'm not a fan of fighting, especially in my bar, but I'm very grateful that you were there

It takes a moment for Mickey to connect the name with the event. Then he realizes what Antonio is talking about he thugs.

“The assholes had it coming”

Antonio tilts his head again and nods, like it's enough, like that explains everything. Which Mickey appreciates. Nobody says another word until the room is done and Antonio turns to him. 

“Well, Mickey, I don't know if you you’ve missed it during check in, but there is a breakfast included with your room. My wife is not here, but I do a nice omelette”

He pauses, looks Mickey up and down “And there is a washing machine you can use”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually find Mickey extremely difficult to write - he's such a great character and the writing for him was amazing. I tried to keep him in character as much as possible :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is still weird to him, this place, its sounds and smells. Flowers and spice instead of gasoline and dirty bodies; bird songs instead of gunfire and clattering of plates in prison canteen; bright colours instead of grey walls. Everything is light, everything is warm, everything is beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no attempt at credibility or realism in portraying life in Mexico in this chapter. I have actually never even been to Mexico :) It's just me trying to give Mickey his own little corner of the world.

_Late March 2017, Mexico_

 

"You are American, yes?" A high-pitched voice asks behind his back. Normally, that kind of situation would send Mickey turning with the speed of the light, but he had been aware of the presence of another human being for the last half an hour.

With a heavy sign he turns away from the task at hand - changing tire on his goddamn truck - to the source of disturbance. Bright dark eyes are staring at him curiously, just as he expected. The kid is perched on the fence, small, wiry and fidgety, looking both too young and too old for his 7 years. For the last couple of weeks, he's been following Mickey non-stop, undeterred by sharp scowls and lack of attention. It's the first time he dared to speak with him directly.

"The fuck do you think?" Mickey says. He looks around in search of any adults or the eldest Guerrero girl. After that fight in the bar he stopped being a scary stranger for the kids ( _stupid, he thinks, should have scared them more_ ), but it's only the youngest boy, Jorge, who pursues his attention relentlessly.

"Where in America you are from?" Jorge continues as if Mickeys hasn't just sworn

"None of your business" the ex-con turns back to the tire, fixes the last couple of screws.

"Is it big where you are from? Do you have tall buildings there? How many cars...?" Mickey grips the screwdriver harder, looks heavenwards 

"For fuck sake, Juan, don't you have some homework to do or something?" He sends another glare towards the little menace. Jorge  _looks_  like a miniature copy of his father, but Mickey wishes he had inherited his silent nature instead. 

"My name is Jorge" the boy corrects him matter-of-factly "I did homework. Mommy said I can go play"

"Well, you can't play here. I'm a little fucking busy" Mickey examines his work sceptically, starts to lower the jack.

"You need help? I can help!" Jorge makes to jump of the fence

"No!" Mickey says sharply. Wonders if the kid has any common sense at all, at his age he already knew to leave angry adults alone. 

"Ok" Jorge looks disappointed for a moment but brightens almost immediately "Then you can teach me English!! What is this thing called?" 

"Your English is fine" Mickey attempts to brush him off. It's true, the boy speaks better than some Southside natives Mickey met.

"I love English" The boy looks as if Mickey made him the biggest ever "My teacher says that I am a naturalist" he starts kicking his legs "Anna hates English. She likes maths. I hate maths. I like Hollywood films. Do you know any stars?"

"Jesus" Mickey mutters under his breath

 

***

Mickey has no idea what the arrangement between him and Antonio should be called. It's not exactly "working" because he doesn't actually have any set hours or responsibilities. No one tells him what to do. There is no salary involved either, though nobody asks him to pay rent anymore and the breakfast that Regina serves him every morning is big enough to feed an army. 

Despite those loose terms, there is plenty to do and shit, he has never imagined that running a restaurant takes that much effort. Most of his days consist of lifting, carrying, repairing (to the best of his abilities) shit around the place. He helps Antonio to get the restaurant ready for the day, goes on his liqueur runs to some extremely dodgy distributor in Guadalajara. 

If someone told Mickey a couple weeks ago that he would end up doing odd jobs in a tiny bar in a some obscure Mexican village, he would have laughed. But Mickey likes it, likes the simplicity, the quietness, the lack of drama and politics. It's the most physical labour he's done in his life, but if feels fucking good. 

Being outside for most of the days feels even better, after months spent in tiny grey space. It doesn't take him long to realize that the community is actually pretty big, very close and survives mostly through a crazy network of barter and mutual help. Guerreros seem to be in the centre of all the activities. So, there is always something to deliver or pick up, someone to collect or drop off. Between the market, the farms, agave plantation, stores and houses he spends a couple of hours on the road every day. 

Which is how he ends up with a punctured tire in the first place.

 

***

Mickey's salvation comes just as he’s finished with the tire in the form of another intruder, a tall young black-haired guy. It takes the ex-con a moment to remember, where he had seen him. The kid works at the auto shop that Antonio’s brother, another Jorge, owns in the village. Jorge’s wife is a local nurse, always busy, overworked so every other day he rings the restaurant and Regina asks Mickey to bring a hot lunch for him. 

“Deja de molestar a este senior!” The guy says to Jorge and miraculously the kid obeys, disappearing into the house with a huff. 

“Hola!” The guy turns to him “Sorry about him. He...” It seems he can’t find the right English word, so he just throws his arms in the air in an amazingly expressive gesture. Mickey thinks it’s actually a pretty good stand in for “ _bothers the fuck out of everyone_ ”. 

“You are Mickey, yes?” The guy comes up closer and Mickey automatically gets up on his feet and turns towards him. The gesture dictated by ingrained survival instinct ( _you don’t stay on the ground!_ ), but the guy seems to interpret it as friendly because he smiles broadly “I’ve seen you around the auto shop. I’m Miguel, Antonio’s brother. The other brother”

Mickey peers at him, pretending not to see the extended hand. Antonio and Jorge look almost identical, short, stocky with stoic Indian features. The kid is much younger, taller and his face, surrounded by a mass of wavy hair, looks Spanish. 

“You need help?” He stares at the car almost as hungrily as his nephew and Mickey rolls his eyes. 

“No, unless you want to polish it for me” he mutters, checking the pressure one last time.

“Pardon? Polish?” the word sounds strange in his heavily accented English “Oh, a joke. Comico!” He smiles wider

“Escucha, if you finish, Tonio said you could help me with bottles. Tequila bottles. I need to bring them to the factory. Can you drive me?”

Tequila factory doesn’t sound too bad to Mickey, so he nods.

“Sure” he puts the jock away, climbs in, looks at Miguel pointedly “lead the way”

 

***

During the ride, Mickey realises that he has not much improved his situation. Miguel talks as much as Jorge and is just as bubbly. His English is not very good, and he frequently slips into Spanish. He compensates for it by gesticulating widely, passionately and his lanky limbs frequently invade Mickey’s space. It tags on something in Mickey’s chest and he stomps on the uncomfortable feeling, focuses on the road instead. 

Mickey hasn’t driven this particular way before, but the landscape is familiar. Endless agave fields, occasionally interrupted by gardens. Antonio explained to him how important agave is for their community. Theirs is one of the few region where it grows. The fields are owned by cooperative of the locals and most of it is sold to big corporations. A small part, though, is used to brew their own tequila, Mickey knows because he drinks is every night. 

“You see the factory before?” asks Miguel and the ex-con shakes his head “You like it! It’s been in my family for many-many years. The best tequila in the world”

“It’s good” Mickey admits, knowing that it’s an understatement. He’s no expert, but he’s never tasted anything quite like that before. Miguel smiles at him as if it’s the biggest compliment he’s ever heard

“Agave here is special, the best” he gestures outside “and recipe is tradition. Our uncle Hector manages the business” 

“Of course” Mickey rolls his eyes. It seems to him that Guerreras are related to the entire village either by blood or marriage. Those who are not related directly, consider themselves relatives because they were in school together or go to church together or one hundred other different reasons.

But Hector is like no one Mickey’s seen before. The guy is not too old, maybe 50-55, but white as a snow. Lower part of his face is almost completely hidden by incredible moustache. He wears cowboy boots and sombrero. 

“ _Fucking Mexican Santa Claus_ ” mutters Mickey while Miguel greets his uncle as if he hadn’t seen him for ages. When it’s Mickey’s turn to be introduced, Hector grabs his palm in both of his and shakes hard, once, twice, three times, while shouting something in Spanish. It’s so comical that Mickey doesn’t have a heart to protest, notices Miguel smirking in the corner of his eyes.

The factory ends up being a surprisingly big place, and Hector insists on giving him a full tour, while calling him Americano the entire time. It’s well equipped even if most of the distillery machines have seen better days. With only a couple of workers there is a sleepy run-down feel to it, but Hector clearly treats it as a sacred temple, lovingly touching machine parts and making Mickey smell agave flowers in the corner. It’s kind of impressive, Mickey thinks and feels a little embarrassed. He picks up a bright red label from a stack near bottling station. It reads “Guerrero&Delgado” and has water signs on it. He shows it to Miguel questioning my.

“Our tequila is certified. We don’t use much labels anymore. Everyone here knows it” there is something bitter in Miguel's voice, but Mickey is more interested in the shots that Hector is pouring. 

After that visit driving to the factory to pick up liquor or drop off bottles or food for Hector becomes his routine.  

 

***

Except Antonio and his family, few locals speak more than very basic English. Mickey doesn't mind. He's not much of a talker by nature and not knowing the language means he doesn't have to bother with what people are yapping at him about. He picks up an odd word or two, uses them if forced to, but mostly keeps to himself.

His evenings are still spent drinking in the restaurant, but he sits at the bar now, even occasionally goes behind it to land a hand when things get busy. He always pays for his own drinks, though. Whatever he does for Antonio definitely doesn't cover his alcohol consumption. Some people continue to steer away, scared by his scowls, their gaze dropping when they notice his tattoos. Others get used to him being around, greet him with a nod and a smile, try to strike a conversation from time to time. Miguel apparently believes them to be fast friends, talks to him non-stop every time they meet, invites him to join his group at the card table. Occasionally, if the mood strikes him Mickey does. They all play passionately and seriously as if winning a couple of pesos (Antonio doesn't allow any high bets in his bar) is the matter of life and death. It's contagious and Mickey pulls all his South Side tricks to win. Miguel does his best to translate the jokes flying around the table and from time to time they are funny enough that Mickey can’t help but laugh.

 

***

It is still weird to him, this place, its sounds and smells. Flowers and spice instead of gasoline and dirty bodies; bird songs instead of gunfire and clattering of plates in prison canteen; bright colours instead of grey walls. Everything is light, everything is warm, everything is beautiful. Now that his head is less clouded by alcohol, he hungrily consumes these new feelings, uses them to keep other thoughts at bay. 

Most days his senses are so overwhelmed that he falls asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow. Others end up with him turning and tossing in his bed, touching the gun under the pillow, full on anxiety and unwanted memories. 

Those days he drives to the ocean, explores small beaches and caves, comes back covered in salt and sunburned. He always makes sure to drop by Puerto Vallarte to check that the officials are not hot on his tail. He uses an Internet cafe to check on the news from home (one of the inevitable results of prison boredom - you quickly become a fan of technology).

But the story's no longer running on TV and, while he's sure there is still reward for information on his whereabouts they stopped broadcasting it either. He reminds himself not to fall under a false sense of security and uses his ever growing knowledge of the area to plan multiply escape routes. But somewhere inside a tiny thought takes root that maybe nobody is chasing him very hard.

 

***

Tequila burns down Mickey’s throat leaving delicious sensations behind. He signs with pleasure and slams the empty glass down.  It’s a late weekday evening, last patrons left an hour ago, Antonio is cleaning behind the bar while he and other Guerrero brothers sit around drinking.

“I have no fucking idea why your stuff isn't in every bar in Puerto Vallarte, Antonio” Mickey says finally “whatever shit they sell there is nowhere as good”

“We used to sell it to distributors in Guadalajara and Puerto Vallarte all the time” Antonio says “That’s how our family earned money”

“And then you decided to become shitty bar owners and auto mechanics instead?” Mickey raises his eyebrows “Because that seems like a stupid move”He sees Jorge turning away to stare at the wall, Miguel face turning angry. But, hey, he’s just saying the fucking truth. 

“Circumstances change” Antonio picks up a glass and starts toweling it off

“Mierda” Miguel swears quietly “Come on, Tonio tell him why!” There is anger and resentment in his voice and Mickey can see Jorge’s jaw clench. It takes awhile for Antonio to start talking. 

“This area used to be a safe place, well as safe as one can get in Mexico. Still is on the coast. No kidnappings, very few murders - they don't want to scare away the tourists, you see”

”But here's different. When tequila became popular several years ago, cartels started taking over the business. It does not make them as rich as drugs, but it is still a lot of money. And cartels want to make sure that the business they control is the only premium product in the market. The don’t want us, small producers to cause disruption. Some places get away with it because their stuff is cheap, but our agave is the best there is. So several years ago cartels started to make damn sure we don’t use it to make our own brand” 

”How would they do it? They came in and told you not to make tequila anymore?” Mickey asks. He can see how it could work, Antonio has a family and so do most people around here “How do they know what you do?”

“Oh, we can make it” pipes in Jorge, his accent stronger then usual “but we cannot sell it” 

“It would take too much effort to control each and every factory around here” explains Antonio “But in order to sell it, we need to get it to the distributor or buyer and those bastards control all the roads. If you try to transport tequila to big places like Puerto, they make sure you don’t make it far”

Be lifts his sleeve and shows a scar on his arm that Mickey never paid attention to before. It's large and ugly and looks as if it was made with large sharp instrument.

“When I took over the business from my father 7 years ago, I tried to renew the trade. Almost got my arm cut off”

”How do they find out what you are carrying?” asks Mickey 

“Remember when we went on that alcohol run to Guadalajara last week? We were stopped by a couple of police officers" Mickey does because it scared the shit out of him, but the police were only interested in checking the back of their car, didn't even ask for any documents “They always say it's a drug check or something, but the thing they are looking for is tequila. They can't arrest you or anything if they see it - too much trouble and paperwork. But they can tip off their friends and a couple of kilometres further you get ambushed”

”Shit” murmurs Mickey. It's a nice system he has to admit. Would not probably work so well in the states, where you can't ensure every road cop is in your pocket. Here though... A part of Mickey admires the simplicity and pure violence of this criminal enterprise. Another part is already thinking of how to get around it.  

“This is why we only produce tequila for ourselves. Other agave we sell. We still get good money, agave popular” Jorge reaches to poor himself another shot

“A tenth of what we can earn! There is a restaurant chain owner in Puerto who would pay 50 dollars per bottle of our stuff!” Miguel slams his hands on the bar “and our crops are getting older, our heritage is dying. Cabron!”

“Miguel!” The brothers exchange a couple sharp words in Spanish. It’s easy for Mickey to recognise what’s happening inside their heads; he has felt like that too often during his childhood and teens. You feel deeply ashamed, because you are a coward, because you are too afraid to stand up to your stronger opponent. And the people you love, people you want to provide for, they can see your humiliation, your weakness, your fear. His opponent was a mean and scary father, theirs - cruel men with guns and machetes. 

“Tough shit” he says simply. Antonio signs

“Miguel’s right. We used to earn more money than we do now. This used to be my father’s house. Jorge, Miguel and I - we went to a private high school in Guadalajara, this is where we learned English. This entire community used to be much better off. And now you see” he spreads his hands around the room “It’s hard, but nobody wants to risk their lives because of it”

The room falls silent.

Mickey weights cons and pros. On one side, there is some risk involved, particularly because an encounter with the police could end in a disaster for him. On the other hand, he's running out of money forever even given his basic lifestyle here. It would be better to build a small fund in case he needs to run.

“I could do it” he says

“What!?” All three of them stare at him incomprehensibly. Mickey turns to Miguel

”That guy, at the restaurant chain. How many 50 dollar bottles he would buy? -

“Maybe 2-3 boxes, 40-60 bottles”

"Do you have that many available?” Miguel nods enthusiastically. The ex-con turns to Antonio, who has been silently observing him through the exchange

”If I manage to get tequila to this guy, I take 50% of the profit cut”

“How the hell are you going to do it?” asks Antonio. Mickey shrugs

”Got a couple of ideas that are worth checking out” he stares at the family patriarch, because he guesses his shame runs the deepest despite Miguel’ more apparent rage. 

The man hesitates though, looks at him suspiciously. 

“Keep your panties on - I'm not going to run around fucking shooting people. What are you risking? A couple of bottles that you can't sell anyway?" 

Antonio remains silent for a long time. 

“I have a family and you are alone” he says finally and Mickey wonders whether he’s stating the fact or asking a question “You get 40%”

 

***

It takes Mickey a couple of days to sort the plan out. It’s no brainer really and the inspiration comes from his old days running the truck scheme. Jorge helps him to lease an old white van in Puerto Vallarta and Mickey decorates it with bright signs “COUNTRYSIDE TOURISM - DISCOVER THE MAGIC OF JALLAICA”, English on one side, Spanish on another. Hangs stupid tourist trinkets around the interior, buys several large cheap suitcases, packs 4 boxes worth of tequila bottles inside them, hides his gun under the front seat just in case. He’s ready to go. Miguel, who’s been hanging around him like a shadow those two days, offers to join him, but Mickey adamantly refuses. The plan requires him not to have any locals with him. 

He's less worried about cartel then about police. He has his fake documents in check, so the only risk he’s running is if anyone checks his fingertips through the system. He thinks it would be less likely to happen if they believe him to be a tourist operator from the USA. He goes through his meagre wardrobe to find something blatantly American.

In the end it all works out smoothly. There is police on the road somewhat halfway to Puerto Vallarta, but they just slow him down, take a precursory look inside and wave him off. 

Senior Rodriguez, the owner of several traditional restaurants in the city, all geared towards wealthy tourists, is fat and mean. He grumbles about the way the unconventional mode of transportation, when Mickey rolls two suitcases into his office. His employees hurry around to unload the goods. Mickey just scowls back at him. This fuck has enough money to buy security on the roads if he really wanted to, but that would take away from his profits so he just waits for merchandise to come his way.  

Rodriguez takes 60 bottles for his business. The rest Mickey takes down to the shore, where a lot of beach parties are happening. It’s still spring break for some universities in the States and the place is full of young people out to get drunk and willing to pay for it. 

It’s awkward at first. This is not Mickey’s scene, has never been and the time he spent inside has diminished his ability to communicate with these people, young and carefree and rich, even further. He’s worried he’s going to stick out like a sore thumb here. 

In reality it ends up being easy. It does not matter how he’s dressed, where he’s accent from and how uneducated his speech is. Everyone is wearing shorts and t-shirts and is too far into having a good time to give a damn about conversation anyway. It’s easy to approach people, offer them a taster and upon seeing their delighted expressions (it is a fucking great tequila) name his price. He unloads most of his bottles in a couple of hours and is back to his truck, when a blond guy, who he has sold one of his first bottles to, approaches him with a couple of girls on each arm.

Mickey turns “That was my last bottle” but the guy shakes his head

“Nah, dude, we are still good” he points at the truck “That’s your company? You do the countryside tours? We wanted to get out of the city tomorrow, see a real country, you know?”

Mickey is about to think of some excuse, because he has no fucking desire to play a guide to a couple of tourists, especially if they keep calling him dude ( _and what kind of idiots trust a stranger, even an American, to take them somewhere unknown in fucking Mexico?_ ). But then an idea strikes him. 

“Sure, man. Do you want to see the place where tequila is made? Have a traditional lunch in a local village? I could do you a discount, only 100 dollars per head” 

They seem to like the idea and arrange time and place. Mickey’s about to go and find a place to bank for the night, when one of the girls grabs his arm lightly. He fights an instinctive urge to shake it off, reminds himself that there is no potential threat coming. 

“Hey, you want to hang around? You have not had time to party yet!” She sounds as if she believes it’s an incredible tragedy “one of my friends thinks you are cute” 

Mickey doesn’t bother telling her that her friend might be the wrong gender. 

On the other hand, there is anonymity of a big crowd; and he's not gotten laid in over a month. The kind of thoughts and dreams it can lead him to... He doesn't need to go there.

Thirty minutes later he ends up getting a blowjob from a blond twink with California accent behind one of the beachfront restaurants. He keeps his clothes on and his eyes tightly shut, while he focuses on pure sensations. It’s intense and good and leaves his blood singing. A quick hand job is enough to return the favour and he declines the offer for the second round.

 

*** 

Next morning, he takes the group of 5 tourists to Santa Theresa.

The day goes well. Hector is his best eccentric self when he shows them around the distillery and Miguel is a charming translator. Regina puts out a spectacular lunch on a terrace. The Americans love the scenery, the blue agave fields and gentle rolling hills. They tip everyone generously and buy more tequila to take home. 

Most importantly they laugh and play loud music in the car and stick out of the windows to take loads of pictures and behave as touristy as possible. Mickey makes sure every police officer on the road from and back to Puerto Vallarta sees them. 

Couple of days later Rodriguez places a new order on tequila for his business.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grieving Monica and grieving Mickey becomes a part of his life. But these are two different kinds of pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite my general feelings towards Season 8, I actually liked Ian's story line in the first 3 episodes (or at least, most of it). It aired just as I was writing this part of the story and it fit so well with my vision of Ian's state of mind at that time that I just ended up "borrowing" the main elements. I hope the chapter will make sense even if you didn't watch Season 8.

  


_Early April, Chicago_

 

Grieving Monica and grieving Mickey becomes a part of his life. But these are two different kinds of pain.

Mickey...Mickey feels like a permanent dull ache that settles somewhere in the center of his chest. It reminds him of... he broke his arm once, in junior school, playing little league. And the school took him to the medical center that patched him up and pumped him full of painkillers. He was supposed to take the painkillers for the entire week, but Monica forgot and he didn't want to upset Fiona so he did not tell her. And then the initial dose worn off and his arm started hurting and it didn't stop hurting for a week. That's what grieving Mickey feel like. Like something that has been wounded for a long time;and now his painkillers worn off and he _aches_. 

The pain is there when he wakes up, it’s there when he goes to bed, it follows him during the day. And there is this shadow that's looming over his head, making the pain worse. A huge black mass of tangled _feelings_  that he doesn't want to touch in case they suck him in. There are so many regrets there, so much guilt, lonigng and confusion. Conversations never had, questions never asked, feelings never acknowledged. Ian thinks that if it ever comes untangled, if he ever focuses on it long enough, it could just plain bury him underneath, crush his bones and force all air out of his lungs. And breathing is already fucking hard enough. So, he doesn’t look, pretends it's not there, that the sky is clear and nothing changed. Pretends the pains is nothing, just like when he was 10 years old and his arm was broken. A childhood mantra of _“I’m strong, I’m strong, I’m strong”_ followed by _"it'll pass, it'll pass, it'll pass"._

His subconscious is not so easy to control. And in his dreams it has full reign. And in his dreams he can't deny that he fucking  _misses_  Mickey, Jesus Christ does he miss him. He dreams of small rough hands against his skin, of bodies moving together in perfect sync, of what it feels like to sink into silky warmth of Mickey's body. He dreams of breathing in Mickey's smell, the one that he can't describe and that always makes him crazy with passion and yet brings him calm and safety and soothes all his pains. He dreams of that moment, in the docks when his lips touched Mickey’s neck tasting the salt of his skin and everything just… disappeared. He dreams of hearing Mickey’s deep moans in his ears, that soft vulnerable little sighs he sometimes makes ...

It’s like 16 months of longing suddenly coming released and _why, why, why now_? Why now when Mickey is finally truly lost to him. 

It takes a while for this thought - he lost Mickey forever - to settle in. He  _thinks_  he realizes that at the border, but it's only later when the true meaning of what has happened hits him. 

The thing is that for all those months that his lover spent in prison and many months before that, Mickey was actually  _there_ , had Ian only extended his hand to reach him, had he only picked up a phone and whispered his name. Instead he chose to lock Mickey away mentally. Another prison, in the confines of Ian’s mind as if the real one wasn't enough - the thought makes him sick to the bone. But deep down has he ever truly believed that he would be able to keep Mickey locked away? Or has a part of him always expected the ex-con to find a way back to Ian as he had done so many times in the past. Which is why, back in February, finding a police car on his doorstep came as a shock, but not surprise. And now the possibility is gone forever. That's what hits him long after the border - Mickey will never come back to him again. 

And it hurts, hurts much more than a broken bone, but there is nothing Ian can do about it. So, he squeezes his eyes shut, wills the feeling away, hopes the ache will pass. 

 

***

A good thing about Mickey pain is that it’s easy to hide. Only Lip knows about his Mexican trip and he's not following him around trying to have heart to heart. It's easy to put on a brave face, joke around, bitch at Carl for not unloading his meth sooner (with his savings gone, he needs cash, needs _security_ ). 

Grieving Monica is different. Not a dull ache, but a sharp pain shooting through his chest. It’s like a knife or a bullet, it leaves open wounds behind. It hits out of nowhere, without warning, just like fucking Monica herself. He can be in the middle of the day, talking with Sue or his family and then it just hits him _“Monica is dead”_ and he almost doubles over with pain, feels the tears spring to his eyes and his throat constrict. 

It does not help that he seems to be the only one going through those feelings. Missing Mickey he expects to be a lonely affair. He has never felt he could share his feelings about the ex-con with his family anyway, except Lip and only to certain extent. 

But if feels like he should not be missing Monica alone. She was their mother; and no matter how shitty she was, they all lost her. But everyone else seems to have accepted her death and then promptly forgotten about it, while he’s the freak who almost ends up crying over a pound of meth because it's the last reminder he has of her. He doesn’t know why it happens, doesn’t know why the pain hits him. 

Lip and Carl don’t mean anything bad when they mock him for his mopping, but every time he hears  _“the fuck’s wrong with you”_  , _“dipshit discount”_  and “ _are you’re still emo about it?”_  it feels like someone scrapes sandpaper over raw wound. He wants to shout back  _“She was out mother! Aren’t you gonna miss her? Just a little?”_

Instead he hits back with light punches and sharp words. Resolves to get over his grief or at least hide it better next time. 

 

***

It’s funny, he realizes one day, that the only person he could have talked to about Mickey without feeling judged or dismissed is Monica. Because for all her faults and misgivings and drama, she had a way of getting him (and getting _to_ him) that no one else in the family did, not even Lip. It’s always been like that, since he was a kid. All she had to do was look at him with those huge dark eyes and whisper quietly “Frank told me about what happened with that boy. I’m so sorry baby” and all his well-constructed walls started to crumble and he could brief and he could cry.

It’s funny, he realizes at the same time, that the only person he could have talked to about Monica without feeling judged or dismissed is Mickey. Because no matter whether he got what the problem was or not, Mickey never judged him. Because all it took sometimes was a concern look, a nod of the head or a rough warm hand on his face – and Ian felt that he was not alone, that he did not have to be brave, that he had someone on his side.

It’s funny that he lost them both at the same time.

 

***

This sense of … loneliness and alienation is maybe why he becomes so determined to get Trevor back. Rationally he knows Sue is right, he’s lost his chance and should let his ex-boyfriend go. But the thing is that he’s not sure he has anyone else he could connect to these days. And Trevor is a great guy, kind and generous, intent on helping people like them. He’s also fun and easy to be around and, though he has his fair share of struggles, generally drama free. With all the mess happening inside his head, Ian needs it now. He needs at least one simple physical and mental connection with another person. 

So, he uses any opportunity to hang around the center, show off his medical skills and concern for the kids. It’s not like he’s pretending - had certain things gone different in his life he could have easily ended up like them. The kids like him, advocate for him even. He pushes into Trevor’s personal space, uses the fact that the guy’s obviously still physically attracted to him. 

Trevor’s resolve is being shaken, but the process is slow and cautious. He still pushes Ian away physically, doesn’t let him get close emotionally, doesn’t reach out himself. He’s sensitive, has always been sensitive and Ian has hurt him and Trevor wants him to sweat for forgiveness. After each put down Ian squares his shoulders, pretends he’s not frustrated, adopts this confident dominant persona that would not be derailed from his quest. But it feels like his insides are screaming.

“ _Please, I need a friend! I don’t have anyone else. Just forgive me already and be my friend for 5 minutes!”_

He thinks that if he asks, lets the screaming out, Trevor might be big enough man to help him. But he can’t. He’s too proud for that in the first place. And he’s too afraid that if he starts screaming once, he will never be able to stop. 

Still he can’t help to reach out one day, when his feelings about Monica get to him too much and it feels like there is no one else in the world he can talk to. Trevor’s suggestion shocks and disgusts him. He’s heard of the chub fucking practice but never in a million years thought he would come to trying it. He takes pride in his body, works it hard, makes sure it’s not affected by his meds; he can’t understand why some people don’t do it, despises them a little, even. And a part of him is hurt that Trevor believes he can just… fuck the grief out of himself.

He only goes to the club because he has frankly nothing better to do and, hey, at least it's a chance to hang out with Trevor.

The bar is a strange place, old-fashioned but in a laid-back cozy way. Nothing here screams sex to him, nothing gets his blood going. As they are drinking their shots (a courage shot in Ian’s case), it occurs to him that part of the reason Trevor brought him here is to demonstrate his own pain, to get Ian to acknowledge it. That _“hey, fucker, what you did really fucking hurt me and made me sad”_ message is definitely there. Ian knows he should show his remorse better, should try and explain his actions. But he can’t, it’s not something he can lie about. And the only truthful answer when Trevor brings up his trip to Mexico would be  _“You don’t get it, you can’t. I couldn't not get into that car, it would have been like putting a bullet in my head. It wasn't about you or anyone else. It wasn't a choice, no more that breathing is a choice. And if I had to do it again, I would every time“-_ not a remorseful boyfriend speech, is it?

He ends up getting a blowjob from an old fat guy while Trevor fucks another one on the bed. He tries to keep it all impersonal; keeps his clothes on because a part of him is still a bit disgusted with the entire concept and he doesn’t want some chub’s sweat on his body. It’s a strange experience, dull and weirdly intense at the same time; he can't relax the entire time and his physical release is slow to come and almost painful. There is no satisfaction in it, despite the guy being objectively good and very caring. Instead Ian feels raw and unhinged afterwards, like someone did indeed scrape his nerves with sandpaper. He tries to get away as fast as possible, but when the guy pulls him down Ian just lets him; kind of falls into the embrace and allows himself to be held by that mass of human flesh, strong and warm. When was the last time someone held him like that? He remembers the night in Texas, blanket under a full moon, Mickey next to him and wishes he had held on stronger, squeezed tighter, asked Mickey to hold him back.  

He doesn’t know where the tears come from - a couple shots of whisky he definitely shouldn't have had, the humiliation and randomness of the entire situation or his pent-up emotions. They brew heavy inside his chest and then release, just like his orgasm, painful and forced; each sob just rips through his body with a force of a thousand blows; each breath is a struggle. He's not even sure what he’s crying about, Monica, Mickey, himself? The strong arms around him keep him from disintegrating, but don’t bring any security or peace. And just like his orgasm the tears do not bring any relief. 

 

***

Chub fucking does not make him feel better, but a talk with Fiona sort of does. It’s nice to be able to connect with anyone in his family again; to hear that she doesn’t consider him a freak. And it’s Fiona, warm selfless Fiona, who had raised him and sacrificed so much in the process. If she tells him not to be embarrassed, then maybe he should not. 

For a moment he considers telling her everything - about his trip to Mexico, why Trevor's broke up with him, how lonely he feels, how much he misses Mickey, how his dreams are full of the man he'll never see again.

But he doesn't; too afraid that  _this_  is what will lead Fiona to believe he's a freak; too afraid to hear platitudes or see pity. 

 

 

***

He feels better for a couple of days, thinks he’s beginning to deal with it, but then Carl walks in with a girl in Monica’s jacket and Ian ends up flying over the handle. He’s had a bad day and he’s had one beer too many, but it’s no excuse for the murderous rage that fills him and the rough unthinking way he grabs his brother. And objectively he gets Carl's behavior, realizes there is nothing malicious in it. He’s a teenager, only home for a short spring break and going back to a strict military environment in a couple of days. The only thing he wants is to get laid and have fun. For him it’s just a jacket. But for Ian it’s so much more. He remembers Monica wearing this jacket when she picked him up from school one time (probably the only time), when she took him for dinner after a game (or was it his imagination?). It’s not a jacket, it’s a connection. He’s been desperately looking for connections, for anything that could ground him. Mickey’s gone without a trace, his siblings feel more far away from him than ever, his mother slipped through his fingers while he was away.

" _Psycho_ ” that Carl throws his way hurts a lot, but the shame is not strong enough to calm his rage. 

He trembles when they enter the storage room, the space where his mother has spent some of her last moments. It feels almost sacred to him, her things, her smell. He’s always been a smell person, can easily identify every member of his family by the way they smell; he remembers smells just as good as he remembers names and faces. 

He wants to grab Carl, rip the fucking fan from his hands and bring the hairbrush he so casually dismissed to his nose. “ _It’s Monica! It’s our mom! Can’t you feel it?! Why am I the only one missing her?_ ”. He wants to gather all those remaining bits and pieces of her, curl into a ball around them and just breath. He wants his mom to hug him and hold him and tell him it's going to be all right.

He doesn’t have an opportunity of course, because Gallagher's luck is the worst luck. 

 

***

Digging out his mother’s body is one of the most excruciating things he has ever done and he’s done a few. It’s physically hard and fucking uncomfortable, all of them digging on a small piece of land, bumping elbows, cursing and bickering. And there is Frank with his endless monologue about his fucking feelings and crucifixion and sex. There is fucking moonlight and spooky feeling of being in a fucking cemetery in the middle of the night. For a moment he wonders whether the entire evening, the entire day is just a product of his sick imagination. If he’s actually not here, but lying in some hospital bed after a manic attack, pumped full of medication. But he doesn’t think that even at his lowest point he could have come up with this scenario. 

He’s never been a religious man. He does not attend church and he doesn’t believe in afterlife. But what they are doing feels like such a blasphemy, such... desecration of his mother. And he knows what they are about to find, he’s an EMT, has been called on a couple of several days old dead bodies, can imagine what a couple of months would do. For some reason it's the part that he's most upset about. Monica has always been beautiful, in life and death, her smile able to light the universe, her eyes like magnets or warmth. Drugs and bipolar have taken their toll, but even in a coffin you could see traces of this beauty in her face. To dig out her destroyed body now feels like the worst kind of indignity. 

But he has looked into a barrel of a gun and watched his brother getting almost killed, so he knows they have to do it. 

When the coffin falls open, he just freezes in shock. It’s terrible and he knows he’s not the only one feeling this primal horror over what they had fucking done. There is a moment when he feels like they are going through this together even though his request for silence, for respect, an attempt to restore a bit of his mother’s dignity falls onto deaf ears. 

And then it's like there is a force pulling him towards his mother... his mother's body. In his peripheral vision he sees Frank moving too, drawn by the same force. And it's so stupid, so profoundly stupid. Because the thought that won't leave his mind _"I can see her one last time"_ ; followed by _"I can say goodbye"_. Stupid, stupid, stupid - but he keeps walking.

The smell of decay hits him like a wave, almost makes him double over. And here, hunched over in the cemetery in the middle of the night, he realizes. His mother is dead and he will never get to see her again. 

 

***

They have to do a hasty job of returning Monica into the ground and tidying everything up. When Ian returns to the cemetery in the morning, he sees the destruction they caused, the mangled earth on top of his mother’s grave, the split headstone. It hits him so strongly that the only thing he can do is sink to his knees and dig his fingers into the earth. Now would be an appropriate time to cry, but he can’t. There are no tears left in him. He’s just... lost.

He tries to restore the headstone, a pointless task without tools or glue. And it’s not like anyone else in the world cares, right? But he tries repeatedly, the stone pieces slipping through his tired hands. They feel like remnants of his broken heart. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not include anything about tattoo, because I think it was plain STUPID.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth is he doesn't care. He's made it further than he ever hoped to, had a couple of months of reasonable peace, had a chance to breath fresh air and swim in the fucking ocean. As far as his life goes, it's the best final chapter he can ever hope for.

_Late May, Mexico_

 

“The fucking question is not whether we can go bigger, but if we want to” says Mickey stubbing out another cigarette “And according to our blue grass expert here we need to make this decision now”

Miguel leans towards Hector’s ear to translate Mickey’s little speech. The conversation has been switching between English and Spanish the entire evening, mostly for his sake. To his own surprise, Mickey is getting better at Spanish -  he can recognize most of the words, but stringing a sentence together is still a struggle. 

They are sitting at one of the big tables in the restaurant, him, Guerrero brothers, Hector, old Delgado with his sons and three Chavez brothers who Mickey can never tell apart - they manage local agave cooperative. Regina and señora Guerrero are hanging around the room getting drinks and food. They've been silent so far but Mickey suspects no decision is going to be made without their input.

“What Mickey is saying” Antonio clarifies calmly “is that there is a big demand for our product”

And there is, a pretty strong demand. In the last couple of months Mickey had been making bi-weekly trips to Puerto Vallarta, with increasingly heavy load. Beside supplying Rodriguez’ restaurants, they found a couple of other places to sell to. Plus, Mickey continues to cruise beach parties, both for less price-sensitive customers and to provide a cover for their business operation. 

“This is what I fucking said” he scowls at Antonio, who calmly ignores him – he knows it pisses the ex-con even more “We can sell 2-3 times more than what we sell now. There is this distributor from New Mexico who really wants to get our tequila into stores over there. But we can’t fucking do it if we only transport 3-4 boxes at one time”

 “Can we do it at all? Hector, can you produce more than what you are doing now?” Marcel Delgado, who trades agave with the corporation, asks. Mickey rolls his eyes, because haven’t they just discussed...Regina taps him on the shoulder lightly and passes him a plate with tamales.  

“Si, si, si !!!” Hector nods his head so energetically his moustache shakes “The machines are there and working fine. If I get enough hands and enough fruit, I can produce as much tequila as we want” 

“And we have been lucky with steady supply of fruits lately. But the big crop comes now and we need to decide whether we keep it for our own production or sell it to the traders” Elder Chavez explains once again.

“Then I say we keep it! Even with the growing prices for fruit.... the tequila costs more” Says his youngest brother “What’s the problem?” 

He only speaks Spanish, but it’s not hard to understand the last question. Mickey signs and throws his hands up and lets Miguel explain in his native language.

“The problem is the same as always. How do we transport it? It’s easy to hide 3-4 boxes in the car, the way Mickey has it set up. 20 boxes are going to look different. We are not going to be lucky forever”

They have been lucky. Mickey has only been stopped a couple of times since the start of operation, but it never came close to searching his car. Either the disguise is working or the cartel boys just don’t bother with the small volumes they are pushing now. 

“Even if we are lucky, sooner or later these bastards will learn that we are not selling agave any more or are selling less and they will come here asking questions” says Antonio

“So, what? We can’t do it in then?” Asks Hector. There is a disappointment in his words. He loves making tequila, Mickey has learned; he loves it like some people love sex or playing fucking music. The old boy would have been making tequila for free. 

“Of course, we can” Mickey says in Spanish, which draws everyone attention “If we are ready to fight cartel”

The silence falls onto the room, expressions raging from scared to uncertain to pissed. He gets it now, a little better than he did in the beginning. These people grew up in fear of cartel, don’t know how to break its power over them, same as he didn’t know he could ever stand up against Terry.   

“I am not sure this is such a great idea” Marcel’s voice trembles “I have a family” 

"So do and I would like to feed it better" his younger brother disagrees. 

"I agree with Marcel" One of the Chavez brothers nods frantically, his double chin jiggling ”We have been doing pretty well with the van. It's not a lot of money when divided, but it's better than getting our kneecaps broken"

“Oh, come on people” Miguel blows up, his eyes darting madly between his companions “Are we going to continue being cowards?” He swears loudly “I’m sick of it!”

There is a bit of angry discussion in Spanish. Mickey expects it, mostly tunes it out. Marcel is a pussy and so is the middle Chavez brother. 

“Enough. How much would we get?” Old Delgado interferes. 

Antonio picks up a piece of paper and hands them around “Mickey and I did some calculations” 

Silence settles around the room as everyone digests the figures. Mickey already knows them by heart.

“It’s the profit we are going to make in 3 months if we use the new agave crop ourselves. Mickey takes 30% of what we are going to sell regionally. The rest is ours to be divided between everyone who owns the distillery” Antonio explains “The distillery would pay 20% more for agave than the corporation” he turns to Chavez brothers “so you, amigos, will also gain a lot” he turns to Marcel “you can start trading with restaurants and distributors again”

“As long as you find someone better than fucking Rodriguez” Mickey mutters under his breath. The trader shoots him a dirty look, but everyone else ignores him. Mickey thinks they are kind of used to him by now. 

“It’s a lot” says the eldest Chavez “It’s more than we had in years. But I’m not sure I’m willing to fucking die for it. What happens when we confront them?” He turns to Mickey

“Yes, we’ve done it before and... well, we all know how it ended” Jorge nods towards his brother’s arm. Miguel opens his mouth to translate, but Mickey just shakes his head. He got it

“It can turn pretty shitty. I never met your cartel guys but if they are as serious as the guys I grew up with we can be in for a lot of pain. I have a couple of ideas of what we can offer them in return, but I can’t guarantee anything”

“But you are ready to do it, right?” asks Miguel

“Aren’t no fucking Modern Family, am I?” He sees lost impression on everyone’s face “Forget it. Don’t have anything to lose, man” he explains 

He realises a bit belatedly that it's Southside language and some of the locals don't get it. They do things differently here, he's slowly learning, they want commitment. Some of the gazes turn hostile once Miguel translates it. 

"Why are we listening to him in the first place?!" exclaims Marcel as Mickey knew he would. They don't like each other much "You can't guarantee anything! How do we know you are not going to run at the first sight of danger?"

"I'll fucking pinky swear it with you. Or we can braid each other hair and exchange friendship bracelets"

Miguel eyes grew a little wide during the last bit, clearly, he's not have a clue on how to translate it. But instead of admitting defeat he turns around and launches into a heated discussion in Spanish. Mickey recognises a couple of words thrown into his direction and feels his hackles rising.

"Look, amigo" He leans forward onto the table, sums up his all his vocabularly  "I need money just like the rest of you"

Middle Chavez brother snorts.

"Of, course, money! But what if it gets too tough. You are not from here! There is nothing here for you to fight for"

"Well, I don't mind the place" Mickey admits, sees Antonio smirk out of the corner of his eye "And the bottom line is -  I can fight. I'm willing to get in the fucking van and drive towards the city, screw the cartel. The question is, are you?"

He leans back, observes a myriad emotion going throw his companions’ faces.  They are doubtful, wistful, unsure. Finally, the all turn to Antonio who's been surprisingly silent in the last 20 minutes. 

“What about you, Antonio” asks Jorge “are you ready to risk it all again?” Mickey sees Antonio glance to the right where his wife sits; they have one of these silent conversation, but it only lasts a minute or two and Mickey realises that Antonio has made his decision long before the meeting. 

“I got family too, amigos" Guerrero patriarch speaks "Three kids. Don’t want any harm to come to them. But help me God, I want to give them better life than this shithole”

 

***

Nothing to lose, he says to everyone, and that’s true. It’s been three months since he crossed the border and the only things he has to his name is a shitty old truck, a couple of shirts and a small security net.  On the other hand, he also has no illegal activities, no prison politics and very few nightmares to deal with. A balance, one could say. 

And he doesn't mind it here. The sun, the air, the sea. And surprisingly he doesn't mind the people.

Guerreros seem to have just accepted him as a permanent guest in their house, at their dinner table and in behind their bar.  Miguel treats him as if they’ve been friends for years, just like he treats every other person he meets. Hector call him “El Americano” and tells him all about tequila and pours him “una muestra” after “una muestra” of his beloved drinks. Even the locals seem to have accepted his presence in the village, whether they like it or not.

It’s the most human interaction he had all his life despite growing up in a big family. It’s uncomfortable at times and there are moments where he needs to withdraw, go for a ride or drive to the ocean, mop in the confines of his own room. But most times it’s good, keeps him occupied, keeps him from thinking too hard about what could have been. Most times it feels… like a breath of normalcy.

It's a very different world from the one he grew up in. It's poor and desperate at times. It's got its fair share of drunks, idiots, violent husbands and petty criminals; it's got plenty of hate, anger and pain. But most people live simple, work hard, care for their families, laugh with their friends. Watching them is like trying to decipher a puzzle - is it how normal people breath? Is it how they live? He doesn't belong in this simple peaceful world; can’t remember if he never did or if prison has just robbed him of any sense of what it means to live with people.

He doesn't belong in this world, but he doesn't mind it. And there is a part of him, somewhere deep down, that does not want to leave. 

 

***

There is nothing genius in his plan, honestly. Mickey knows there is only two ways one can win with a gang – wipe them out or buy them out. He’s not stupid enough to believe he can wipe out a fucking Mexican narco cartel. So he buys half a dozen of cheap burner phones and starts making calls.

 

 

***

"I'm coming with you" Miguel says bluntly. Mickey doesn't turn around at first. He's been fixing the van for the last half an hour in a quiet corner of the auto shop. "Fucking kid" he thinks. He always thinks of Miguel as a kid even though there is probably no more than a couple of years between them. 

"Coming where? Because I was just about to go take a piss" Miguel snorts, undeterred. Nothing much can deter him, Mickey has learned. He’s a right pain in the arse. 

"Coming on your run, of course. You shouldn't go on your own. I can help"

At this Mickey turns around, measures Miguel up, lifts an eyebrow

"I can" Miguel repeats stubbornly and, hell, not like Mickey has grounds to object. Miguel is strong in a way that Mickey suspects country boys are strong, body honed by going out and about all day in crazy heat, lifting boxes and climbing rocks. He's seen Miguel use his hands in a bar fight and he's not useless. 

But it's not about strength, about knowing how to fight or being willing to. It's all about how far you are willing to go to win. 

"You do know what I'm doing here, right?" He motions towards the van and the pile of thick carton and old blankets that surrounds it. He already has some of the windows boarded from outside, just started taping the shit to the doors on the inside.

"You are making it …what’s the name?" Miguel says "Bullet proof"

"Yeah, except it's going to be a fucking poor protection. Entende? A bullet hits us, this shit going to do fuck all. You think you ready for that?"

"I'm not a coward" Miguel hands automatically form fists and his chin pushes forward in a gesture that makes Mickey suck his breath in. He turns away. 

"Would be better if you fucking were... " He murmurs quietly. But on the other hand, who is he to tell people what to fucking do with their lives?

"Find a blanket, a thick one" He feels rather than sees Miguel smile behind his back.

Later when they are both folded over the door trying to cover the insides as much as possible Mickey makes the last attempt.

"You know Antonio and Jorge will be pissed about it"

"No" Miguel shakes his head, eyes focused on task at hand "They understand. You shouldn't go on your own. You should not fight your battles alone"

Mickey doesn't know how to respond to that. 

 

***

 _“Do not fucking wait, hit them first”_ Was Terry Milkovich’s motto and Mickey hates to admit that the old bastard is right but… he is right.

Which is why he makes no attempt to conceal 20 boxes of tequila in the back of the van when he takes off from the village towards Puerto Vallarta the next afternoon. Siesta time. The police officer twenty miles down the road barely gives them a glance when Mickey slows down next to him.

“It’s Martinez” Miguel says, voice full of disgust and Mickey brakes to a halt. According to the locals, there is no policemen in the area more dedicated to the cartel or more trusted by them. He’s a big, heavy man with perpetual sweat on his badly-fitted uniform. The policeman’s leisurely stroll changes to faster pace once he notices the van’s content. Mickey rolls down the window.

“Hola, senores!” Martinez greets them, though there is nothing welcoming in his expression. Up close he looks even sweatier “¿Por qué se detuviste aquí?

“Hola” Says Miguel politely, while Mickey remains silent. It unnerves the officer for a second, but not as much as Mickey’s next words.

“Tell Ramirez that I have an offer for him” he says slowly and clearly. Martinez’ mouth drops open.

“Que?” he looks confused; limited mental capacity overridden with new parameters

“Tell Señor Ramirez that we want to meet - I have an offer for him. My name is Mickey Donavan” it feels strange on his lips, this new name, but he forces himself to continue “I’m staying at the Guerreros hotel in Santa Theresa. I will be happy to talk to your boss any time he wants. Comprendo?" Mickey asks and slowly drives off.

"He's not going to call Ramirez, is he?" Miguel asks as he watches the huge police officer stand in the middle of the road dumbly before fishing his mobile phone. Mickey shoots him exasperated look. He doesn't speed up - let the idiots gather their forces. Apparently, it doesn't take long at all - less than 30 minutes later they see a black car half-blocking the road. It's a good place, Mickey thinks, - one of the countryside roads, quiet, with lots of bends and curves. Another 30-45 minutes further the road enters the highway, full of tourists and trucks, with state road police and cameras. Here's the no man’s country.

Next to him Miguel tenses, but in a good way - hyped for the fight, not frozen in fear. 

Mickey slows down. The cartel men stay in the car - either a power thing or they are too lazy to get out in the heat. It's siesta after all. Mickey drives right to them and parks on the second half of the road, semi-blocking the other vehicle in. Finally, the SUV's doors open and two guys step out, while the third one stays behind the wheel. They are young, Mickey's age at most, short, dark-haired, olive skinned, dressed in almost identical jeans and shirts, guns sticking out from their wastes. They move lazily, relaxed - not an A crew, not even a B crew, probably some new hires sent on an easy beat-down. New, but already believing themselves to be the kings of the world. 

"Hola, Señores" Mickey greets them politely. Two of the guys approach his side, while the third one circles to lock Miguel in "You are.. how do you say it? -  blocking my road" 

"What do we have here?" One of the guys asks and Mickey smiles. 

"What does it look like? Like we are going to church?!" He turns to Miguel and the young man obligingly laughs in return.

The guy stares back heavily, clearly not amused.

"It looks like you are transporting tequila. What are you going to do with it?" 

"We are going to sell it" Mickey says innocently "Something wrong with it?" 

"Something’s wrong all right. I can see that you are new, but there is an agreement. Nobody can sell tequila except the cartel.  I'm surprised your local friends haven't explained it to you" he motions to Miguel. It's not that difficult to understand what he's saying, but Mickey turns to his companion and waits patiently while he translates. Then he turns to the cartel guys again, still smiling, still playing innocent. 

"Yeah, the agreement. You see I would like to re-negotiate it. For mutual benefit, you see" 

"Ramirez cartel doesn't negotiate" the guy says and his companions nod, like they always do. Were they not all out in the blustering sun, Mickey would have thought he was back in the middle of prison court.

"Are you sure? You might want to check with your boss, amigo. We are talking about a really good deal here" 

"I don't need to check in with anybody!" C-team for sure, easily offended, aware of how low they are on the ladder. That makes it easier for Mickey.

"I think you should consider it" He insists calmly "I would like to meet with Señor Ramirez"

The cartel guys laugh loudly, look between each other

"Why don't you turn your ass around and drive from where you came, gringo? And take your dog with you before we..."

Mickey lifts the gun off his lap and shoots the guy in the shoulder. The boy staggers back, body half turned from the force of the heat, mouth open and arm flailing around. Mickey doesn't give him any time to recover. He throws his door open and jumps out pistol whips his victim. The guy lets out a cry and falls down, hard. Quickly Mickey points the gun to the vehicle, where the third guy should be. It’s a smart decision – leaving someone in the car. It’s stupid to have it parked in a way that the only way for him to shoot is either by twisting in his seat 120 degrees.

"Stay where you are!" Mickey shouts, not bothering with Spanish and the guy freezes, halfway out of the door. Which is stupid – he should have climbed out the passenger door and used the car as a shield. But what can you expect from a driven in the C team?

Mickey risks a tiny side glance towards Miguel, but he needn’t have worried. Young Guerrero has his opponent in a headlock against the side of the car.

“Now” the ex-con says, still in English “I don’t want any trouble. Let’s fucking do it again if you shitheads don’t seem to understand”

Miguel relays his original message in Spanish, repeats the part about a good deal twice.

“Fucking comprendo?” Mickey asks and fires two shots in the SUV’s tires, before backing away and climbing back in the car.

 

***

Miguel is ecstatic. He’s drumming his fingers on the front panel and he can’t stop smiling.

“Did you see it?” He turns to Mickey “No, did you see it?! They could not do anything! They could not do anything to us!”

“We fucking took them by surprise. And they were fucking idiots. The rest is not like that” he takes out a cigarette “Unless they are and you spent 10 years being pussies for nothing”

Miguel laughs loudly before his face turns serious.

“I know it means nothing, that we have not done anything yet. But it feels good, Mickey!”

And Mickey get it, he thinks; he’s been there himself, in that moment when you finally-finally hit them back. And truth is, he’s feeling pretty good himself. It’s been a while since he was in a fight anyone and, fuck, did he need it! His blood is singing.

“Call Antonio” He forces himself to cool down “Tell him to expect visitors”

 

***

Based on Mickey’s experience things could go three ways. The first – they can be shot down in their car on the way back from Puerto Vallarta; the second – they can come back to Santa Theresa to find the entire village destroyed; the third – someone might actually agree to talk to them. They’ve been lucky so far, but in Mickey’s world luck doesn’t exactly last long.

They make it back to the Guerrero house in one piece. There are is a black car parked in the front yard, a twin to the one he shot at in the morning. When they enter the restaurant, every head turns into their direction. The atmosphere is tense, nobody speaks, nobody jokes. In the middle of the room three guys sit at the table drinking tequila, and they are older, rougher – a B crew at least this time.

“Mickey” Antonio calls from the bar. He’s calm, like he’s used to having cartel boys in his restaurant every day “These fine gentlemen want to talk to you”

 

***

That’s not the most uncomfortable drive in Mickey’s life – that day when he rode in a car with his fucking father and fucking Svetlana and his fucking brothers to get to the church for his wedding probably takes the first place. But it’s not his idea of a fun either, being squeezed between two cartel boys in the backseat. Miguel is riding shotgun – he’s insisted on tagging along – because he’s not a threat, not with his entire family less than an hour away.

Apparently, one of the cartel’s “offices” is an old warehouse, somewhere in the hills – hell knows what it was for originally, maybe some crops or agricultural vehicles. Insides are filled with cheap tables and chairs and lightbulbs hanging of the high ceiling.

In one of the chairs – not a cheap one - sits a medium-sized Mexican. That’s what Mickey notices first, how… medium the guy is. Medium height, medium weight, medium length hair medium age. Not ugly, not handsome – just a plain guy sitting like a king in the middle of the warehouse. He doesn’t move when his goons lead Mickey and Miguel in and form a circle around them. This place _could_ be a prison yard, it’s so dark and bare.

“I heard you wanted to meet with me” Ramirez says after a while in Spanish

“Si” Mickey confirms, keeps it simple, partly because his Spanish is limited, but mostly to keep the power balance going “I have an offer”

“I’m not interested in offers. My men should have told you”

“They did” Mickey confirms “I did not believe them”

“Why?” Ramirez shoots him a quick look

“Only fools are not interested in deals. You don’t look like a fucking fool to me”

Miguel sucks his breath in next to him, but Mickey doubts anyone beside him could hear it. Outwardly he plays cools, opens his mouth to translate, but Ramirez waves him off.

“You hurt my men very badly” He says in English and his accent is so thick it’s impossible to guess whether he’s angry or not “I would be a fool to forgive that”

“They refused to pass a simple fucking message” Mickey shrugs “Forgive it or don’t, I don’t give a fuck. Question is - do you want to sell your product in the US or not”

Ramirez freezes for a second, before the mask of disinterest falls back onto his face. He switches back to Spanish

“How do you suggest I do it?”

“I could connect you with the right people” Miguel translates and Ramirez lifts an eyebrow “Ivan Kazakevich will consider doing business with you. He’s expanding and looking for a good supply” Ramirez looks briefly behind their backs and Mickey hears shuffling behind him – someone’s going to check the story.

“It’s a little bit unusual, an American showing up on my doorstep to offer a drug deal. Are you Mr Kazakevich’s … intermediary?” Mickey smiles

“More like a former associate”

 

***

Truth is he has fucking Svetlana to thank for Kazakevich connection. Back in the beginning when he was still finding his footing inside and doing occasional hits for money, she found him contracts from Russian mafia through one of her friends. Which made sense, anyway – Russian and Ukrainian mafias are not exactly close outside, but it’s not rare for them to close ranks inside against other gangs. By the time Svetlana fucked off, he had already established his place in the ranks – not a member, but a respected associate. Kazakevich guys were in and out all the time – mostly short sentences for guns, drugs and girls – but there were a couple of long-timers who kept the gang going. It was a good partnership.

And Kazakevich believed that Mickey stuck by his people when it all went to shit – a takeover from Ukrainians, a bloody and dirty war with quite a few losses. Mickey did not turn over to the new regime, choosing instead to join the Mexican gang. Not from any sense of loyalty, just survival – the newcomers were a close connection of his father’s so there was no way for him to join them and not get a shiv in his kidneys the next day. But it sure did look like the loyalty to the Russian mafia.

“What’s your cut in this?” Is the only thing his old connection asks him over the phone.

“I’ll collect from the Mexicans in services” Mickey promises.

 

***

“So how is it going to happen?” Asks Ramirez. One of his men has been whispering in his ear for the last couple of minutes, relying the gathered information.

Mickey takes out one of his burner phones and lays it in front of the cartel boss.

“Call Kazakevich and arrange your people to meet. If it goes well, you get your deal and forget about Santa Theresa distillery”

“That’s it? That’s the only thing you want?” Ramirez’ eyes are burning into him “It’s not a lot of money, amigo, one distillery. You seem like a man of many talents, you could come work for me”

Mickey doesn’t know if it’s flattery, a trick or a real offer, but either way he finds himself not interested. He’s spent almost 2 years in the prison yard in the middle of one gang war after another. He doesn’t want any of this shit.

“I’ll pass” He says simply and waits. It can still go very wrong, here, any minute. Ramirez puts his hand on the phone.

“I’ll have to think about it. Wait for my people at the same place where you met them today. Tomorrow night”

 

 

 

***

It's quiet, so fucking quiet in the car that they can hear each other's breaths.

Miguel's is labored, short, a breath of a man who is trying to keep the panic at bay. A hand holding the cigarette is trembling, the fingers tapping against the door. They’ve been sitting here, on the side of the road for a good hour.

"If they decide not to go with the deal… if they are playing with us… What if they are at the restaurant now?" He whispers harshly

A part of Mickey, callous, cruel part wants to snap _"Well, it was your fucking decision. This is what you get for playing with big boys"._ But he doesn't. Instead he says:

"Relax, they are not going to go for the family. Too much press coverage. If they are not here, they are not there either"

It's not the best of arguments, but he's reasonably sure that guys like Ramirez would consider two dead guys enough of a message. And he still has a bit of hope that the deal haven't fell through. He says so to Miguel

"What if it did? What if this is it for us?" 

Mickey keeps quiet, takes a couple of puffs on his own stick, glances at the nights stretching around them. Truth is he doesn't care. He's made it further than he ever hoped to, had a couple of months of reasonable peace, had a chance to breath fresh air and swim in the fucking ocean. As far as his life goes, it's the best final chapter he can ever hope for. He doesn't say it to Miguel of course, just shrugs

"Then this is it, amigo. This ends here"

"And you are fine with it?!" Miguel looks at him incredulously, unbelievably and Mickey feels a stab of jealousy. A guy like Miguel – despite the poverty and danger and fucking cartels – he’s got no fucking clue what it can be like. He’s got no clue how the amount of shit that's been falling on you since you were a kid can get just a bit too heavy; how your perspective changes when the best things in your life turn to the things that hurt you most; how the moment you start enjoying life, believe that it can turn into something good, everything crumbles. How the threat of death is scary and pisses you off but a small part of you just stops minding it so much. 

"Whatever fucking happens, fucking happens" He shrugs again. It must come across more philosophical to Miguel than he intended to because the young Mexican falls silent

"So, there is nothing else you would like to do before you die?" He asks finally "No regrets, no unfinished business, nothing you were rather be doing than sit here in the dark?"

And that... that's one hell of a punch that lands somewhere around Mickeys vortex and resonates through his entire body. Unfinished business... nope, all his business pretty finished as far as he can say. All ties cut, all goodbyes said, or at least all that matter. Yet he still fights the images in his head, of red hair and green eyes and long limbs. Of bodies moving together, of shoulders pressed next to each other on a couch, of laughs and mischievous smiles. Thinks that if he could have it, one more time... Just one more time...

But then again, he's been there already and what had it gotten him? Still he can't force himself to speak, just shakes his head, gets out another cig. 

Miguel watches him for a moment, curiously, like he could actually see through the silent facade. But then his expression turns sour and his gaze turns downcast. 

"Well, I would" he admits " I would go and hug my brothers, kiss my mother, play with my sobrinos, drink with my amigos" he sighs, turns to Mickey "I would want to be with my family"

"I'm not like you, man" the ex-con says simply "I don't have a family. At least not one that would mourn me" Mickey admits

"I'm sorry" Miguel says, honestly, like that's really a fucking tragedy for a man not to have someone mourn him. Maybe it is, maybe it's Mickey who is too fucked up not to see it. 

"But I don't believe it" Miguel continues suddenly "you are a good man, Mickey. Un hombre bueno, comprendo? Someone somewhere will miss you"

Mickey can't explain why the air escapes his lungs at these words, why it suddenly becomes so difficult to breath. Maybe, because he knows for sure that nobody _did._ When it came to it, nobody missed him, not even people who used to. He swallows and forces through clenched teeth.

"You don't fucking know me" because that's fucking true. This kid, this family, this village, they know fuck all about him "I am probably about to get you killed because I want to earn an extra buck"

"We all want an extra buck. You are just the only one strong enough to fight for it. And I know enough" says Miguel stubbornly and presses his jaw forward "And so does Antonio"

Mickey works through the tension in his throats and his eyes and his entire goddamn being. The words are still burning through his body, distracting him and he blames exhaustion for the admission that escapes his mouth.

"I had a family once... a lover... and a son..." he stares in the night and suddenly feels relief. It feels good saying it out loud, at least once, getting out his version of the best 6 months of his life before his own blindness and stupidity caught up with him. Maybe it was never true, maybe the life he lived during those 6 months, the love he shared, the family he built - maybe it was just a stupid fucking delusion. But goddamn it, he _had_ a family! 

"What happened?" Asks Miguel quietly and Mickey would have laughed if there was any laughter at all inside him

"I was stupid. I wasn't strong enough, was a goddamn pussy hiding my head in the sand" surprisingly that feels good to admit too, like a long-lost secret. He had a family and he wasn't strong enough to keep it. 

Mickey stays silent for a moment or two feeling self-conscious, like he said too much, opened himself too wide in this old car sitting in the middle of the road in the middle of the dark-dark night. He lights another cigarette to keep his hands occupied. 

"Is it why you are not afraid to die?" Asks Miguel

"No" Mickey denies quickly and it's not insofar that it's a lie, but that it's a half truth. The problem is not that he lost people he loved... the problem is that he is just tired, tired of fighting alone, of deluding himself "None of it matters anymore" 

And that is sort of truth because everything that matters, everything that ever mattered stayed on the other side of the border and he could pretend to be angry about it and he could pretend to ignore it and he could pretend he accepted it. But the fucking truth was that Ian didn't go with him and… ..."Nothing fucking matters"

They smoke silently, both concentrating on the road ahead. Finally, Miguel speaks up. 

"Family is family" he says simply, like it's a universal truth and a for a moment Mickey wishes that he had this conviction ”Family always matters." 

There is nothing Mickey can say in return. And there is no time for a replu anyway - far ahead a car turns into the road.

 

***

Next evening, when Mickey comes back from his first official tequila delivery to Puerto Vallarta he finds the Guerrero bar fuller than Mickey had ever seen it, despite it being a fucking Wednesday. Hector is in the middle of celebrations, drunk and dancing with a bottle of tequila, pouring it generously to everyone around. He and Miguel are trying to sing some extremely long and sad Mexican song and even Jorge joins in with his warm baritone. Regina, red in the face and laughing, looking younger than her thirty something, drags Antonio to the middle of the floor to dance. Mickey snorts with disgust and makes sure to blend in the crowd. 

The night before, when he and Miguel stumbled into the restaurant they found the entire family waiting tensely in the kitchen, coffee pot on and a gun lying in front of Antonio. 

Regina shot up when they entered and run to hug Miguel, held him for a long time before turning to Mickey and, to his utter surprise, enveloping him in her arms again. It made him feel funny, out of balance, like he wanted to bolt. But he didn’t – he stayed put and held her back and did his best to ignore the warm feeling that covered his insides.

***

"Dinero, amigo, dinero" on of the Delgado sons slaps him on his back. Mickey shrugs his arm with annoyance and mutters one of the many colourful Spanish expletives he learned from Hector. He can accept a hug from Regina, but he'll be damned if all of these drunk latinos decide to show him love.

"Yeah, dinero. Un poco dinero, comprendo? Not going to become fucking millionaires, Jesus!" He mutters

"No" Delgado slams his hand against the counter "Not a little dinero! Mucho mucho dinero! We take our tequila to Puerto Vallarta and to Guadalajara and to New Mexico! We will become rich again and I will send my son to school in Guadalajara and I'll buy my wife dresses, lots of pretty dresses" his eyes glaze over with sentimental tears and Mickey is afraid he's about to get another hug and opens his mouth to tell the fucking idiot where to go. He doesn’t have to, though -  suddenly Delgado junior presses a hand to his mouth and dashes outside.

"Fucking pussy" mutters Mickey in disbelief, sees Antonio smirk in the corner of his eye "Have you fucking seen this idiot?"

Silently Guerrero patriarch tops up his glass. 

"He's almost family" he says simply

 

***

Later Mickey sits across from Antonio at the bar while the elder man counts the money. It's two in the morning already, the bar all cleaned up and tidied, tables wiped, chairs lifted. Mickey's got a cigarette in his fingers, but doesn't lit it up, the slow and steady movement of Antonio's fingers almost mesmerising as he separates the notes into three piles.  Thirty percent goes to factory, the rest divided 60:40 between them. Mickey's already counted the money twice in Puerto Vallarta and done the rough estimations. But Antonio's meticulous, counting and re-counting every cent. Finally satisfied, he passes one of the piles towards Mickey. 

"Here. It's 3550 dollars. It's yours" 

Mickey fumbles with the money automatically. It's good money. It's actually the first legitimate money he's ever earned since that fucking security gig at towelhead place. Legitimate money to maintain a legitimate business that gives people legitimate jobs. Sure, they bent a couple of rules getting here, and it's not like he's going to pay fucking taxes. But the money itself, its clean - not tainted by blood or deceit or violence. Fucking ironic, Mickey Milkovich, a fugitive, doing legitimate business in Mexico. 

"It's good, money" Antonio says and Mickey jumps a little because there is no way the elder man knows what he's been thinking about "but Rodriguez won't need more for another couple of months. And he'll want to pay in peso from now on that he knows he can get as much as he wants. Manuel will start visiting other places in Vallarta tomorrow, try to get our old contracts."

"Fuck Rodriguez" Mickey says "We could try selling in the US. It's 7 hours to the border and there is this guy in New Mexico who would love to buy our stuff". 

"Can you get it there?" Asks Antonio simply, like it's the most natural thing to ask an American "Crossing the border with alcohol and Mexican ID is not going to work out that well"

Mickey nods, fondles the last burner phone on his pocket, the one he didn't get to use. Toys with the idea and looks at the money on the table. Wonders when his life will get screwed again. 

"I can make some calls" he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no attempt at credibility in the Mexico section of my work :) I'm just trying to give Mickey a break from all the shit.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Ian wishes they were nightmares so he could hate them, complain to his doctor about them, trample them with meds. But there is no fear in these dreams, no horror, even if they are showing him horrible things. Instead they are filled with terrible-terrible sadness and longing and helplessness. They leave him groggy in the morning, poorly rested, relieved to be finally awake and yet strangely earning to fall back asleep and spend another minute in the ghosts' company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to warn you, there is quite a bit of Ian/Trevor in this chapter.

_Chicago, early June_

 

_***_

It gets easier with time, Ian discovers. Not easy, but easier. His emotions calm (not without a help of an extra mood stabilizer dose), his anger goes away somewhat, his grief dulls. 

Ian wants to think that it's the time doing the work, that his mind is finally healing, that life is getting back to normal. The problem is that none of his longing and grief disappear.

Sure, they don’t spring on him unexpectedly from behind every corner, driving him crazy and making him look like a lunatic. There is no shadow looming over his head or a sharp pain shooting through him on every step. Now, it feels like these feelings all buried deep inside him and sometimes... sometimes Ian doesn’t know which one is worse. 

There are days, most days even, that are almost good. They are filled with enough routine that he doesn’t notice that anything is amiss at all. Those are the days when it's easy to pretend that his life hasn't changed irrevocably three months ago. 

But he fucking pays for these days when his subconscious gets to reign free. His dreams turn into a fucking lottery, where he doesn't know which card he's going to pull tonight. Most often it's about Mickey, the three days they spent together on the way to Mexico. No, that’s not right – most often it’s about _losing_ Mickey. There is this moment that plays again and again on the inside of this skull: “ _tell me goodbye_ ” Mickey whispered and Ian pushed him away violently, anger cursing through his blood, because _“never, fuck you, never, never, never!”_ Or sometimes it’s Mickey pulling away from him at Mexican border; or even some random hurtful memories form when they were just kids fucking around. And then sometimes it’s Monica, a kaleidoscope of memories and bizarre images -  Monica's decomposed body falling out of her coffin while his family is dancing and laughing around.  

These are not exactly nightmares, not the kind of dreams that wake you up sweating and screaming in the middle of the night. He's never disturbed anyone's else sleep, doesn't wake up himself when the dream ends. Sometimes Ian wishes they were nightmares so he could hate them, complain to his doctor about them, trample them with meds. But there is no fear in these dreams, no horror, even if they are showing him horrible things. Instead they are filled with terrible-terrible sadness and longing and helplessness. They leave him groggy in the morning, poorly rested, relieved to be finally awake and yet strangely earning to fall back asleep and spend another minute in the ghosts' company. 

 

***

The shrilling sound of the horn cuts through his unconsciousness. 

"Shut this thing up!" he hears Lip yell from his bedroom and groans. Doesn’t need to look at the alarm clock to know what time it is. 5:30 am, just like every other morning since Carl came home from school. 

His younger brother grunts from across the room and thumps towards the room entrance, uses the doorframe to do push ups, just like Ian used to do. Ian keeps his eyes closed, traces the kid’s movements through familiar puffs and grunts. A sort of nostalgia always settles over him when he thinks about Carl of all people realising his old dreams of the army. Who would have thought? 

Truth is having Carl back home for the summer helps a lot.

Despite fucking horn alarm, ridiculous flagpole in the middle of the backyard and huge breakfasts that would have eaten them all under the table in not so distant past, Carl brings a sort of positive energy that's been severely missing from Ian's life lately. Their strict routine, the familiar comfort of the army rules, all the running and exercising - it all helps to keep him fucking sane. It helps him to get up in the morning, get out of bed. 

And Carl is... simple. Simple like many 15-year old boys are simple (unless they are gay and having an affair with an older man and in love with the neighborhood thug). His head is filled with sex and food and computer games; not thinking further ahead than the next week or the end of the summer holidays. 

But also, simple like Carl has always been simple - taking life in stride, taking the shit that falls on you, dealing with it, but not trying to ... paint the world better. Not pretending to be someone he's not, not demanding it from others. Out of all confidants of his childhood, Lip is dealing with so much of his own shit that... he kind of tends to lock himself in his own head. And Fiona... Fiona is taking on the world in that determined, take no prisoner manner that means there is no space for anyone or anything else. It's hard to reach out to them these days, to the point that they almost feel like strangers. 

But Carl is simple, Carl is just there, accepting everything and not demanding anything. They run and they fight and they laugh - and for an hour or two Ian feels like his life is his own again. 

 

***

The job helps too. Summer is a hot time for EMTs. With schools and universities over, there are more kids on the roads, in parks and houses - a mass of people prone to reckless behaviour and accidents. Heat gets to old folks more than cold, with heart stacks and asthma and strokes on the rise. There are more tourists around as well, spending money on illegal activities that get them too high, too drunk or too violent. 

So, there is more work, more rushing around and less time to sit at the centre waiting for the call. 

It's also nicer to be out in the truck, have the window open, enjoy the summer breeze and Sue's chatter, eat lunch sitting outside. It takes his mind of sad things. 

“Have you heard about the new program?” Sue asks him one morning, when it’s relatively quiet for once. They cruising comfortable, drinking soda and enjoying a short respite.

“Which one?” Ian asks without much enthusiasm. Like all huge organisations, EMT is a huge bureaucracy machine and there is always one program or another circulating around.

“Fast-track EMT-Intermediate training? The big bosses committed to hiring a shitload more EMT-Is next year and we have nowhere to get them, except training our own”

“Before the end of the year?” Ian snorts with disbelief

“Hmm” Sue nods, takes a drink of her soda “I think you should do it”

“What?” Ian stares at her “You joking? Sue, it’s 400 hours of extra training! And I’ve only been EMT-Basic for like 14 months!”

“So, what? It’s not going to be a ride in a park. But you are a natural, kid. You are _really_ good. And you are not an idiot, so why not give it a try? What else do you have to do with your spare time – hang around your cute LGBTQ prophet?”

Ian ignores a jab against Trevor; there is warmth spreading in his chest at Sue’s words. At the praise, as well, but most importantly – because Sue hasn’t mentioned a very obvious reason he shouldn’t do it. And that trust, that faith – they warm his heart genuinely for the first time in months.  

“Anyway” Sue finishes her soda and speeds up “I already recommended you to Rita and she’s on board. So, the decision is yours, kid.”

  

***

"You are still trying to get into that dude’s pants?" asks Carl incredulously as they stretch before a run one morning. He must have heard Ian’s chatting (flirting) with Trevor on the phone this morning.

"Yeah" Ian nods "Getting close too.” 

"But why?" There is a disgust in Carl's voice, like three months is lifetime and spending it on one person is a total waste. Ian shrugs.

"Well... he does a lot for the kids in need. He’s basically the best person I know" Carl’s expressions is dubious and Ian realizes that it's probably not the right argument for a fifteen-year-old boy. He changes tracks to something more relatable, forces a cheeky smile on his face.

"Plus, he's great in the sack" That works better, gets Carl off his case, not that Carl's particularly imposing anyways.

Ian is quick to change the topic.

 

***

"You want to hang out tonight? " Ian is bent over the desk at the youth centre trying to sort out the first aid kit when Trevor approaches from behind. 

The thing is... Trevor is a good person; the best person Ian knows even though he has his weak moments just like anyone. And he's pretty cute, fun to be around; they have a lot in common. They do, they really do – they both struggled with their sexuality, they like the same music, they both like dancing, they…

But if Iam is honest with himself (and God how tempting it is not to be) that is not why he’s here, or at least not the only reason.

These days Ian spends most of his free time at the youth centre. Talks with the kids, helps around with small stuff, just hangs around. And for these two-three hours every other day he doesn't get to be alone. He doesn't get to be afraid of letting subconscious fears and desires spill into the his reality. Here he's needed and busy and productive, here he's living the life he wants to be living. The regrets and longing slip deeper under his skin and until the night comes he gets to believe that he's all right. 

And his relationship with Trevor is getting better too. Slowly, but steadily the passive aggression disappears from other man's gaze; their conversations turn funny and friendly again; the glances that Trevor shoots his way change from resentful hunger to flirtatious interest. He comes to Ian for advice and seeks him out when frustrated or disappointed. They are friends again, they go to bars and have lunch together. It makes Ian feel good, it makes him feel in control, it makes him feel like all of this hasn't been in vain.

The thing is... maybe Carl is right. Maybe it’s ridiculous to be chasing a relationship after three months and multiple rebuffs and chub fucking and all the friend zoning in the world. 

But Ian doesn’t know what _else_ he would be doing if he wasn’t chasing Trevor. It might be ridiculous, but it gives him a goal, and God knows he’s not going to survive without one.

 

 

***

"Hello!? Earth to Ian?!" He doesn't realise that Trevor is now standing right next to him, slightly annoyed expression on his face. He doesn't like being ignored, perceives it as a personal slight; not surprising after a youth spent trying to defend his identity. Ian forces himself to focus.

“Sorry, I was distracted. Some stuff at work” He realises he’s not told anyone about it yet “Sue wants me to do this training…” he pauses, not sure how to relay how excited and concern he is about it at the same time.

“I’m sure you’ll do great, Ian!” Trevor’s eyes are warm and his tone is soft, just like when he’s talking with the kids about their school successes.

“Yeah, I’m sure” Ian opens his mouth to continue, then changes his mind “What were you saying?”

“Do you want to go out tonight?”

"Yeah, sure!" Ian’s body automatically angles towards the short man and he crosses his arms to show off his forearms "What do you have in mind?" 

"Let's go to the Spring Tiger" Trevor pauses "remember that club near my place?"

Ian nods, a nervous anticipation settling in his stomach. 

Their physical relationship has been much slower to recover so far, bouts of passion intermitting with cooling periods. They kissed half a dozen times and there was some petting, but they are yet to cross the bridge to full intimacy. 

Part of it is pure ...logistics... the nature of who Trevor is and his preferences. Where any other couple would have ended up having a quick hook up in a club's bathroom or in a dark alley, with a pack of lube and a condom being the only requirements... (or sometimes not even that, his mind supplies helpfully; the images of bodies moving together, skin against skin, dark skies, shadows of metal nets and rails around them come to his mind ...  _and for the love of God will it ever-ever stop?!_ ) Anyway, Trevor can't - they need his stuff, they need a bit more room and a bit more privacy... So, any burst of passion gets a reality check, gets a pause during which Trevor inevitably backs out, gets them to cool down.

Ian doesn't mind, not really. He values his tentatively restored friendship with Trevor too much to press the matter. 

And there is something else, something that Ian can't exactly put his finger on, some sort of hesitation that means that he doesn't mind waiting himself. That means that every time Trevor pulls away at the last moment, doesn't invite him over to his place, Ian feels a tang of relief mixed in with sexual frustration. 

He  _wants_  Trevor, he  _wants_  their relationship back, he _wants_ to sleep with him. He even fantasises about convincing the other guy to let him top from time to time. But it's not only a sexual desire - that he can satisfy with an occasional one-night stand. They never again experiment with having sex in the same room, but they do cruise bars together every once in a while, which sometimes ends with one or both of them hooking up with other people. Ian prefers quick action, a blowjob or a quick fuck; watches a bit resentfully when Trevor takes guys to his place. He can’t say it’s not a blow to his ego, being passed over for some stranger, but he can’t say he’s jealous either. 

No, what Ian earns for is not sexual gratification. He wants a connection, wants to have someone to share his nights, wants to fall asleep next to someone and wake up holding someone in his arms, wants clothes sharing and fighting over the bathroom in the morning. He wants the feeling of intimacy and every milestone in this direction - a kiss, Trevor staying for a night - feels like a victory, gets his blood to sing with gleeful anticipation. He doesn’t want to rush.

Thing have been changing in the last couple of weeks, though, he can feel it. Trevor gets more open, more flirtatious, his body language screams desire. Which is why Ian allowing himself a cheeky smile when he responds

“Close to your place, huh?” He leans into the brunette “haven’t been there in a while”

Trevor smiles, doesn’t back away “Behave yourself and you might just get lucky”.

 

 

***

It is only when he's lying next to Trevor on a rumpled bed later that night, trying to catch his breath that Ian wonders why the fuck he has been chasing it for so long. Why the thrill of anticipation felt so much better than reality.

It's not that the sex is bad. Ian's had some bad sex in his life (he still can't think about his experience with a woman without a shudder!), and it's not it. It's not too short, not too long, there is plenty of foreplay and great action. Trevor is fit and flexible. They know each other's bodies well enough to avoid any awkward tumbling around. Bottoming again feels a little strange after such a long time, a little unnatural as it always does to him. But after a while he's able to get into it just fine; and Trevor is an experienced lover, he lavishes plenty of attention on his cock. His orgasm feels great. The physical feeling is fucking  _there_. 

And yet it's one of the most boring and least emotionally engaging sex in his life. 

He doesn't know what's wrong. Did his pent-up frustration raise expectation bar too high, to the point of inevitable disappointment? Or did his memory play a trick on him, the sex between them never that good in the first place? Or does he feel differently - a small tiny part of him manages to speak before he stomps it out - because he had a chance to experience something so fantastic during those three days on the way to the Mexican border that everything else pales in comparison? And _how_ the fuck can a 5-minute tumble in the back of a car with clothes still on and no privacy, with a guy he's not seen for 16 months feel more intimate, than lying down in bed skin to skin with a man he admires and shares his days with? _How, how, how?_  

Ian forces his brain to switch off, focuses on here and now. Trevor is lying next to him, and he at least seems completely satisfied, his expression relaxed, body lax and a blissful smile on his face. Ian berates himself for being dramatic over what was in reality a good experience. It's not like this is the only chance they are going to get - he just needs to curb his expectations, learn to enjoy sexual relationship with Trevor again. 

Purposefully, he rolls towards his lover, throws right arm around Trevor's torso. 

"It was amazing" he whispers in what he hopes is a seductive voice. Trevor turns his head towards him slowly. 

"Worth the wait?" he asks

"Absolutely" the lie comes out easy as they eye meet. Trevor looks gorgeous with his hair all messed up and eyes deeply hooded. How wrong could things be if Ian wants the man? He leans in for a kiss, which quickly turns into another until both of them have to pull apart to breath. 

"I missed you" admits the other man dropping into his own pillow and Ian freezes. 

It's not the same. _Of course_ , it's not the same, the place, the words, the voice that says them and the man behind it could not be more different. 

"I missed you too" he answers back and forces himself to smile. He refuses to think about why it feels like a betrayal. 

 

***

After round two he begs off staying over at Trevor's for the night because of an early morning shift and heads home. The light breeze, a kind you can still get in early June, helps to clear his head. He's relieved. Great or not, but he's back into Trevor's good graces and ( _he isn't going to end up alone, alone, alone!_ ) that's a good thing. It’s just that he doesn’t know what to do with a sudden emptiness inside him.

Next morning, he goes to Rita and signs up for the EMT-I course.

 

***

2000 miles to the south, Mickey throws away the remaining butt of his cigarette and immediately lights another one. His fingers tap on the side of the car nervously. He's parked in a quiet corner of a truckers’ rest stop, shaded by trees and with a great visibility of the road. It's the closest he came to the USA border in the last 4 months and the longer he waits the more he believes that the entire thing is a fucking suicide, whatever the hell Antonio thinks. 

Common sense and Milkovich upbringing tell him to throw away the burner phone, turn the engine on and drive away as fast as possible. But he's never been very good at giving up and there is a 5K worth of tequila sitting behind him and a buyer across the border and also...

" _Fuck you, Dad! Fuck whatever the hell you taught me"_

He almost misses the car, when it turns into the parking lot, mostly because he expects something completely different. But the license plate matches the one in the text message, so he presses the horn three short times, blinks his left light and watches the vehicle stop, slowly back away and turn towards him. It parks awkwardly on his left, wheels turned out and the back sticking out a good half a meter, leaving Mickey with no doubt about who is driving. 

He waits until he can see the driver door opening in his side mirror and only then gets out himself, closes the door behind immediately to keep the fucking heat out. He turns towards the newcomer, takes off his sunglasses and scowls. 

"Who the fuck parks like that?" Mickey points to the truck "And what the fuck is that?!" 

Iggy shrugs sheepishly, a strangely familiar gesture that makes Mickey scowl even more. Iggy looks like ... Iggy. Flat pancake of a face, sickly pale skin, a mop of dirty blond hair. He walks towards Mickey, feet shuffling.

"It's the best one I could find!” He glances around, squints his yes “Fucking hot here. What’s wrong with the truck?”

“What’s wrong?” Mickey shakes his head “It’s twice the size we need, to start with. And a day late” he pauses, looks Iggy up and down. His brother is starring at him with a weird expression that Mickey can’t quite read, but that makes him slightly self-conscious. 

“You doing all right?” Asking the question feels even weirder, not something he ever remembers doing. For a moment they are just standing across each other, silent. 

“I’m so glad you are all right!” Blurts Iggy suddenly and then his arms are around him in what, Mickey realises belatedly, is a ... hug. A fucking hug! It’s not that Mickey never hugged anyone before, it’s just the number of people that he hugged was basically limited to one. Two if you count a handful of times he and Mandy threw their hands over each other’s shoulders. Feeling Iggy’s hands squeezing the life out of him feels beyond strange. Cautiously he pats Iggy's back, can swear he hears his brother sniffling. 

“Come on, man” Mickey pulls away after a while “I’m all right. Don’t turn into a fucking pussy on me”

Iggy nods once, twice

“Sorry we are late, man”

“We?” Right on cue Mickey notices a movement and lifts his eyes just in time to notice Colin climbing out of the truck.

“The fuck is he doing here?”

 

***

They end up sitting in a quiet corner of the truck bar, sharing a pitcher of beer and a plate of tamales. His brothers look dutifully impressed with his command of Spanish and it helps to pacify his anger a little. Thankfully, Colin, doesn’t try to hug him. In fact, while Iggy looks exactly the same, Colin looks shockingly different. Not in appearance - he’s still a big fucking lump of a man, just a tad bit more muscled. No, the difference is in his face, in haunted light behind his eyes and guarded expression in place of open aggression. 

“What are you doing here?” Mickey asks again once their glasses are half empty “I thought you were doing time with Dad”

Colin got put away for car theft and drugs about the same time their father broke his parole and they ended up in the same prison. Unless Mickey’s estimations were completely off, they both had a couple of years left.

“I made a deal” Colin looks down, plays with the rim of his glass. For a moment Mickey is so dumbfounded he just watches the huge fingers move, nails broken and knuckles scarred the way they’ve always been since Colin was a kid.

"What?" He forces out thinking he must have misheard. Milkoviches do not rat. They don't make deals with cops - not to cut down a simple sentence. Colin must see his disbelief and averts his gaze. 

“There was a turf war" he swallows, gulps down a huge drink "Dad really pissed off some very serious people in the Arian brotherhood. He... it was like he fucking lost his mind. There were only five of us strong and he thought he could take over from the bosses” Colin looks away “got knifed in the bathroom"

"He's dead?" Mickey asks and a scary mix of hope and primal fear at his own hope settles somewhere into his stomach. 

"No" another gulp "It wasn't that serious, he made it. Managed to get himself in the solitary for a couple of months" 

“Dad started a warfare and then got himself in the solitary?" Mickey repeats slowly, feels his hackles rising "The bastard left you hanging out in the open?!"

"No!... Yeah... kind off... with him gone, it got... fucking tough" Colin admits 

Mickey can just imagine how tough it got.  _He_  ended up in prison without much protection and had to make a name for himself. But there's never been a price on his head either. Colin, on the other hand, would not have turned on their father in the conflict and that meant that in the eyes of the Brotherhood he was going down. He would have been completely ostracised, which in prison terms was just an extended death sentence. It’s a miracle he made it out of there at all.

“So, when the DA fucker found me..." the eldest Milkovich brother shrugs 

"You took the deal?" Mickey pauses "Who would you rat out" 

"Our old contacts in Indianapolis" 

"You facing the heat?"

"Nah" Colin tries to squeeze the last couple of drops out of his glass, looks at it mournfully upon failure "Dad though..."

“Will get exactly what he deserves” Mickey cuts him off, motions for another drink. He's done pussyfooting around the fact that he hates his father “the old bastard saw it coming”

To his surprise Iggy nodded enthusiastically and Colin seems to be happy to drop the subject. 

“My PO found me this place in construction, but it’s pretty shit pay and the guys don’t like my tattoos” Colin continues once the new bottle lands on table “So when I found out that Iggy was coming to see you and there was a potential for some money…” 

Mickey turns to his brother and raises his eyebrow.

“Who else fucking knows I’ve been in contact?”

“Nobody, I swear!” Iggy shakes his head “He just heard me talking with uncle Randy about the truck. And he's a good driver, Mick, you know”

“Christ! Uncle Randy? What did you tell him?”

“Just that I needed a truck to move some furniture around. I think he thinks we started back on the moving scene. He’s too fucking busy to give a shit anyway. This dad’s thing - it affected everyone”

“Regardless, keep your fucking mouth shut!” Mickey insists “You too, Colin” his brothers nod

“Look, Mickey, this business of yours, it’s not ... it’s not going to land me inside, man? I can't do it again” And Mickey would have laughed at the thought of a Milkovich, particularly Colin, being afraid of going inside. Except he knows exactly what it's like, was willing to shoot himself instead of going back inside, still is.

“That depends entirely on you” He lights a cigarette, pulls out an envelope and explains how it’s going to work

“There is a hundred boxes of premium tequila in my truck. Half of it goes to this place in New Mexico about two hours from the border, another half, and whatever else we manage to get our hands on to fill that monster, you take to Chicago. Here” he passes them the envelope” is the money for the customs and the contract. The New Mexican guy has already paid directly, so he doesn’t owe you any money. I don’t give a shit what you are going to do with the rest but half of the earning are yours - pay for the truck and the petrol out of it. The other half goes to Svetlana and the kid, ok?”

His brothers nod. 

“Can we get Svetlana to help us sell? She owns a bar, she knows this staff” Mickeys kind of impressed with Iggy's logic; he's brother never been a genius. He weights pros and cons in his head. 

"Ok, you can get her onboard, but do not, I fucking repeat, do not tell her where I am. And let her know that if she as much as thinks of sicking police on me it'll be the last cent she sees"

"Dude, you didn't even tell us where you live!!"  Iggy probably manages to sound indignant for the first time in his life "We are your brothers"

"Who do you think I'm? A fucking idiot?" Mickey throws his hand in the air "You managed to babble out to everyone about this little trip" 

Iggy impression turns sulky and he stares into his glass. Mickey wonders how long it's going to get him to realise they can track him through the tequila brand. Bets on never. 

"I don't care where you live" Colin's eyes have been wandering around the room "But I hope you are getting good pussy. Heat like that, they must be walking around naked"

Mickey stares at him, turns around to Iggy who shrugs sheepishly.

"All he's been talking about since getting out" 

"What?" Colin looks between them dumbly "Or are you still a fucking Moe?" 

Mickey can't hold back a chuckle and before he knows it he’s laughing. It feel fucking good. 

 

***

Several hours later, with tequila transferred to the truck together with a dozen barrels of cheap Mexican beer, courtesy of Manuel's trade connections, Mickey motions Iggy back to his car; gets a paper bag from the passenger seat and passes it over to his brother. It's almost comical to see Iggy's impression when he opens the bag cautiously, like any Milkovich would, and sees a bright orange and black tiger toy staring back at him. 

"For Yevgeny" explains Mickey somewhat pointlessly, because who the fuck else would need a toy? 

Iggy nods once, twice like the understanding is coming slowly in beats and pieces. 

"What do you want me to tell him?" Mickey fights against the feeling of absolute loss. 

"Nothing! Fuck! He's a baby, what would you say to him? And don't tell Svetlana anything" he swallows "Just make fucking sure she takes it. She can throw it away afterwards if she wants to"

"Ok" says Iggy, hugs the bag to his side carefully like it's something much more fragile than a plush animal. He is about to head back, is already halfway turned when he smiles and shoots his youngest brother a glance that Mickey struggles to interpret.

"I'm glad you are ok, Mick. Just... stay safe"

Mickey has to work around a lump in his throat. 

"You try to hug me again, I'll clock you" manages to work the threat through, pauses, thinks " _Fuck you, Dad!"._  

"You too" He has to force the words out, but the next phrase comes easier "stay safe and keep in touch"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of things. 
> 
> I actually think that Ian trying to get back with Trevor after what happened makes sense. For once, he's always been afraid of being alone. Secondly, he's still desperately trying to get his "old" life on track. So, Trevor will stick around for a while.  
> On that note, I don't hate Trevor or want to make him a villain. He's a pretty lazily written character in the series with "0" character development and that makes it difficult to relate to him and Ian, even if we didn't have Mickey. I'm not going to try and flash out his character much - just show why Ian's with him and why it's a bad idea :)
> 
> Finally, I have no idea why I decided that Mickey will develop stronger connection with his brothers in this fic :) It started as "logistics" of Mickey's business, but once Iggy and Colin made it on the page I wanted more out of them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thing about rage, once he lets it out, it feels good. It feels like opening the floodgate, like there’s been lots of it stored deep inside of him and now it’s flowing free. And he feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm using some of the season 8 scenes in this chapter, which would probably make better sense if you watched it.

 

_Chicago, Mid-July_

 

By the time the summer reaches its peak in Chicago, Gallagher house turns back into a hot messy overcrowded place so reminiscent of his childhood. 

Debbie moves back in with Frannie, her relationship with Neil apparently completely over. Frank gives up his St Francis act, which means no job and a permanent residence on the Gallagher couch. And with school being over Liam takes reign of the backyard and the beat-up truck in the back while he introduces his rich friends to the Southside life. A strange blonde girl with annoying high-pitch laugh and a habit to moan loudly more or less moves into Carl's bed.

And Ian used to love how loud and messy their house used to be. How you could never feel lonely or useless, how there was always something to do, someone to talk to. He used to love it so much that all those years ago, sitting in a clean living room in the house of the man who could have been his father, who could have given him a "sweat life”, he got so scared of the quiet he literally had to bolt. 

It feels different now. Maybe because he's older, maybe because they all got bigger, take up more space these days. Or maybe it's because they now all feel more like neighbours than family. Someone's always pottering around in the kitchen - Debbie cooking for Frannie or Carl preparing super soldier snacks - but they never sit down for a meal together. There is always so much talking around, toddler screaming, Frank rambling, Fiona trying to sort out the entire universe. And yet he can't remember the last time he had a heart to heart with anyone. Not that he particularly wants to these days, but now even Carl forsakes morning runs in favour of lounging around with his girlfriend.

Ian can barely stand the noise, the mess, the constant feel of people no more than two feet away, the complete lack of privacy. It grates on his nerves, makes him feel stretched thin, ready to snap or (worse) run away crying. 

This irritation transfers to other areas of his life and he finds himself snapping at Sue never-ending commentary at work; avoiding a chit chat with elderly patients; siting silence in the corner when he takes his paramedic lessons. He starts favouring tasks that would take him away from too many people at the youth centre. 

Escaping to Trevor's isn't really an option. He shares with three other people, two of which are freelancers working from home. And bizarrely, he seems to like the Gallagher house better, regularly stays the night.

Selfishly, Ian finds himself longing for the last year, when he had Caleb's studio at his full disposal. He snorts when he catches himself having these thoughts - because he definitely does not miss  _that_  mess. What he believed to be so great, his first "real" relationship with dates and holding hands and an understanding, all-forgiving boyfriend. And what ended up with cheating, lying, self-doubt and drunken calls at 3 in the morning from a hypocritical bastard. 

One thing he appreciates about Trevor, maybe a thing that attracts him most, is his absolute infallible honesty. Despite, or maybe even because he spent his youth conflicted about his identity, Trevor knows so well - and let's other people know - what he wants, what he accepts, what he wouldn't stand for. And if it borders on the line with self-centeredness sometimes, a tendency to make everything about his needs and beliefs, a too-righteous approach -  Ian will still take it over weaselling around. 

No, he doesn't miss Caleb or their relationship, but sometimes, when he's sitting across from Trevor, listening to him talk about a teen he's concerned about or a change policy, knowing he must listen, can't just tune Trevor out for the risk of offending him. In those moments he... In those moments his mind starts to wander back to the past and he finds that thinking about sitting on Caleb sofa, watching the firefighter work silently on the project, is perhaps the safest option. 

 

***

He doesn't know what to think about the fact that Mickey disappears from his dreams. 

It doesn't happen overnight, doesn't just stop altogether. Every once in a while he will still get a vision, a ghost of a feeling - a sun on his skin, a touch of salt on his lips, a ghost of an embrace. But as the summer rolls out he starts noticing that several days might pass between his dreams; and then the interval stretches to a week, two weeks, until the moment he can't remember the last time he had it. 

"It's time" he thinks "it's because I'm back with Trevor now" And the last thought always leaves a bitter taste in his mouth that feels bizarrely like resentment. 

He doesn't  _resent_  not having the dreams anymore, really, he doesn't. He is relieved not to see a kaleidoscope of every fucking sad moment in his fucking life on the inside of his skull every other time he closes his eyes; is happy not to wake up with that terrible overwhelming sadness. He doesn't even miss Mickey ( _he doesn't, he doesn't, he fucking doesn't!_ ).

What he misses is  _dreaming_  at all. Because, when Mickey stops haunting his nights, it's like someone unplugged the TV and now the cord is missing. For 6 to 8 hours each night he's metaphorically staring at blankness. It's not a meaningful blankness, not a dark shadow of depression that hangs over his head in those moments when his mind is set on destroying itself - there is just nothing. And one would think that it should be good, should feel peaceful. But instead he just wakes up tired and empty. 

"Man, you are fucking restless" Carl fake complaints one morning as Ian is getting up and the young cadet is lounging in bed "Every night, just tossing and turning. You can't sleep or anything?" 

"Do I? I sleep just fine" Ian is not sure whether he's saying truth or not "must be all the fucking noise and heat" he looks at Carl pointedly. Carl flips him off lazily; he must have come back in the middle of the night. Ian smirks, does a couple of stretches and push ups before turning to his brother again.

"Hey, you wanna go for a run?" he tries to keep the hope out of his voice. 

"Nah" Carl murmurs, but he's already falling back to sleep.

Ian just stands in the middle of the room for a while, listening to the voices and noise from downstairs. 

 _"It's time"_ He thinks again _"it's getting better. Soon everything will go back to normal"_

A part of him even believes it. 

 

***

Out of all secrets Ian has ever kept from his family, the fact that he still visits Monica's grave occasionally, ranks among top most fundamental. It's ridiculous, given it exists side by side with things like being gay, dating a neighbourhood thug and almost escaping the country. But he's never quite managed to get over feeling that grieving Monica makes him  a freak in the family. The dirty mix of shame and wrongness follows him every time he sneaks out to the cemetery to sit by the ruined headstone. He never tells anyone where he goes, not even Trevor or Sue - not even people who would think it's normal, natural. Instead he invents excuses and tells lies if anyone asks him where he's been. 

He doesn't know why he comes here; he doesn't  _do_  anything here. Doesn't cry, doesn't talk, doesn't lose himself in some memories of her. He just sits on the ground, plays with the grass at his feet, stares at crumpled stone with his mother’s name. 

A couple of time he tries... not talking (fuck, he's not that crazy!) but kind of... _thinking_ at Monica. Asks her in his head questions, like " _why_?", " _how_?", " _what_?" - but they are all fuzzy and unclear and too raw in his head, so they never get properly formed; it's not like he expects an answer. He doesn't feel better after his visits, leaves just as empty as he arrives; promises himself it'll be the last time. And yet three weeks later his feet automatically lead him to the familiar place. 

 

***

He doesn't know how his feud with Fiona starts. Or rather he knows which circumstance led to the conflict, but fuck he doesn't know how it led them to  _this place_ , squaring against each other in the middle of the street. 

 

***

"It's nice to know getting in my pants was not the only reason you hang around the place" jokes Trevor one night; it's almost one am, and Ian has been up since 6. 

He and Trevor were supposed to go out for a movie, but then a couple of troubled teens came in for concealing, and then Trevor learned about a potential sponsor coming in tomorrow. So here they are, the brunette sorting out the books, while Ian tidies around.

Ian opens his mouth to say something like _"There is nothing in your pants worth that much"_ before quickly remembering that Trevor doesn't always get his jokes. Goes for a non-comical smirk instead and a much safer:

"You converted me to serving a good cause in the process" Trevor likes that a lot, grins back, eyes turning a little dreamy before he remembers himself and goes back to the task at hand. It makes Ian feel good.

Truth is the centre has become a big part of Ian's life. He wants it to succeed and grow and if it means spending a couple of long nights helping Trevor out, it just means a couple of nights he doesn't have to listen to Carl having sex.

 

***

His attitude to the centre, Ian thinks, is different from Trevor's. For Trevor this place, its purpose is his life, his mission in life. He empathises with these kids to the point that every failure keeps him awake at night; every success lifts his spirits up. And if sometimes Ian gets irritated with his boyfriend’s preachy ways, the way he makes LGBTQ issues central to every conversation, he knows that it comes from a good place. That Trevor believes that none of these kids’ problems are too small or too big; that he would gladly spend a night holding someone’s hand and coaching them through life. 

"I know I can never help all of them" says the brunette man one night. They are out for a walk, enjoying a warm summer night. They’ve been trying to secure a shelter building for a while and one or the other thing always falls through “But if I can only help one, two, three of them. That would be enough, you know?"

And he looks so vulnerable at the moment, so miserable and powerless, that Ian has to kiss him; its moments like that remind him of why he is with this man.

Ian can’t quite master the same level of empathy as Trevor towards every LGBTQ problem out there. Maybe it’s his south side upbringing, or shitty experiences that made him this way; or he’s just plainly inherited Gallagher asshole gene. But every once in a while listening to some kid complain about being bullied in school or his parents not allowing him to transition before he’s 18, he wants to shout _“Do you know how lucky you are? To be able to go to school? To have parents who care?”_. Never does, of course, never shares these thoughts with Trevor, either. He’s not a councillor, anyway, just hangs around helping with whatever needs help, doing a bit of first aid; no one forces him to talk with the kids; it’s not a problem if he’s tougher than the rest of the volunteers.

But Ian discovers that some of the kids - and he thinks about them as kids even though some of them are 15, 16, 17, the age when he himself felt adult and experienced - some of the kids are almost drawn to his toughness. Seek out his advice over Trevor’s, like hanging around him. Those are Southside bunch, less well off, pricklier; while others might be looking for advice or sympathetic ear, these kids need everything - food, clothes, family, a home. At first, he doesn’t get why he’s so popular among them. Trevor thinks that it’s because he’s trans and some kids might think that it’s completely different level of struggle, might be worried he’s not going to pay enough attention to their “smaller” problems. Deep inside, Ian doesn’t agree; thinks that it’s because Trevor comes across as a hipster; someone who would have no fucking idea what it is like to grow up poor and gay in Southside. 

Whatever the reason, he feels like he can help, like he's making a difference in someone's life. And the kids, they look at him like he's... _someone_. Someone adult and put together and successful. Someone who has his life under control, a job, an open lifestyle, a cute boyfriend. It makes him feel good to know that the life that he’s leading is a dream they all want. 

There is no other place in the world that makes Ian feel that good. Most of the times anyway.

 

***

The thing that throws Ian most at the centre is the violence; and the fact that most of this violence comes from the family. As a first aid provider, he deals with it a lot; learns to recognise the signs as soon as the kids enter the doors - and sometimes there are no visible bruises, just the way they pull their sleeves down to cover their hands, careful way they walk, downturned glances. Often, they offer no names, give no addresses. And often they choose to ( _have to_ ) go back to their abusers.

It infuriates him to the core, makes him so fucking angry. And, bizarrely, also makes him feel blessed. Because no matter the shit that has fallen his way, he’s always had a home where he could feel safe. 

And yes, his own father - and isn't it fucking _hilarious_ that after all those years of... of fucking Frank, a small part of him still thinks about the bastard as his father? Anyway, Frank used to pull a few punches on him from time to time, more than he ever did on anyone else in the family. But it had never related to his sexuality, because fucking bless his non-existent soul Frank is actually one of the most inclusive people in the world. And as for Monica… she could understand Ian better than anyone. 

And, yes, he hid his sexuality from his family, was terrified out of his mind when Lip learned his secret. But it's never been out of  _fear_ ; worry, yes, that people he loves might think less of him, will think him sick, unlovable because of who he is

It’s never been the kind of fear he sees in these kids' eyes.

 

***

There is a girl who comes in one afternoon, huge bruises on her face, split lip. Ian seen her around before a couple of times, attending Trevor's therapy group. Doesn't know if she trans or gay or just plainly confused about her identity and sexuality like so many of the kids are. 

She's 16, maybe 17 and there is something in her wary eyes and the stubborn way her jaw is set against the pain that tugs at Ian heart. He gets her a coke, sits her down in Trevor's office.

"You should go to the hospital" he tells her while he takes care of her bruises. She's not a street kind - poor, but clearly living at home; no track marks on her arms, no starved look. 

"So that they report me to the fucking social services?" The girl snorts "No, thanks!"

"You should. They might be able to..." Ian shuts up when he sees the look at her face, sceptical, disbelieving. She looks him up and down as if to ask " _really_?" and Ian almost feels ashamed because... 

It’s the fucking real world. And in real world 16-year-old girls ending in the system don't end up in loving families who put them through college. Best case scenario they end up in a group home, worst - with a bunch of perverts.

His thoughts must be all over his face, because the girl smirks miserably.

"Is there anywhere else you can go?" He asks quietly instead. The girl shakes her head, dark bangs falling over high cheekbones and Ian just wants to smash something. 

"It's only a couple of nights" she shrugs "He will forget about it soon as he's sober" 

For a second Ian is tempted to break the rules and call social services; they don't typically do it, it makes kids distrust them, makes them into another authority figure they need to be wary of. Besides, who would he be reporting, he doesn't even know her full name. 

"What happened?" he asks instead hoping it will bring out some details. The girl shrugs again. After he's done she gathers her things and starts to leave. She looks strong and fragile in a way that's so familiar to him. Turns around at last moment, looks straight at him, says 

"Thanks for the help. But I'm going to be all right, you know?". 

Ian follows her outside, watches her turn around the corner.

He pulls out his phone automatically, scrolls down to M, finger hovering over Mandy's number. 

" _You know, I'm all right, right?"_  For a moment he just wants to hear her voice.

"Ian? You all right?" Trevor calls from behind him and Ian puts the phone away.

"We need a shelter, we need a fucking shelter right now"

 

***

And it's that day on the walk home that Ian sees the church and the idea strikes him. The abandoned building looks terrible, windows covered, dirty; he has to step over a couple of junkies sleeping on the steps. But the structure itself seems strong. The space that he can see through a peep hole in the door looks huge, tall ceilings so unlike cave-like environment of the centre, lots of natural light. And wouldn't it be funny - a support centre for LGBTQ youth in a church? He escapes the putrid smell emoting from the steps dwellers and calls Trevor immediately. 

And it’s touch and go for a short while an art gallery (a fucking art gallery?!) wanting to buy it, but in the end it seems like almost a done deal - the building has been on the market so long the lease is pretty cheap; they manage to line up a couple of nice sponsors and a lawyer friend of Trevor promises to help with a contract. There is a nice buzz around the centre for a couple of days and even sending the kids away doesn't feel so bad when they know they won't need to do it again soon.

And then it all crashes to hell when their offer is rejected and Ian realises that it's his sister who has been fighting against him the entire time. 

 

***

He walks away from the restaurant furious, not because of the church. Oh, he’s angry about it, for sure. It’s a great place, a meaningful place and after all the work they put into securing the sponsors it sucks to lose it in the last minute. But it is not what gets to him the most. 

It’s Fiona’s attitude towards the entire thing, the way she hides behind utter bullshit, the stuff they used to laugh at when politicians and authorities spurted it:

_“You don’t want this place. It’s a piece of shit inside”_

_“Trash building are popping up all the time”_

_“The_ _neighbourhood_ _is against the shelter”_

_“These guys wanna engage with the community”_

All this shit, while all she cares about is her precious building, precious rent, precious income. 

And Ian does not know when she grew so fucking selfish. When she forgot who they are, where they came from. That had they been just a tiny bit less lucky, they could have ended up like these kids. He could have become this kid when he run away if Mickey hadn’t brought him home, Carl could have if he didn’t stay away from the drug business. Fiona should know that, she of all people should. But instead she calls these kids “ _risk_ ” and pretends that it’s all right to put them aside. 

And all for what? Not for survival, not for the things she needs, but for a bit of extra cash? Since when has she…. have _they_ started trading everything _meaningful_ , real, true for money and comfort. Since when it has become all right to stomp over people for fucking stability? 

And even if the kids are not worth it in Fiona’s eyes, what about him? He point blank asked her to help him out, do this for him and he expected it to matter. But it’s all me, me, me in Fiona’s eyes. 

“I worked too hard, put my ass out too much”

They are family, for god sake! They live in the same house, a house he has always contributed to, maybe not as much as Fiona, but as much as he could. And when Fiona needed help, when she was falling, he came to her help, he was there for her. And he always respected her, listened to her, followed her. Maybe, Fiona deserves her chance at life, but how can she turn her back on  _him_?

“I don’t know who you are anymore” he throws in her face when he leaves. 

 

***

Ian’s cooled down a bit by the time Fiona drops by his work the next day. But he’s had a shitty night shift and he’s barely slept the day before and he’s still pissed enough to give her a cold shoulder. Fiona reacts like all Gallaghers do with going on the offensive; and maybe they are just too similar because the thing she opens up with is:

“Come on, Ian, we are family” And that gets his rage back up tenfold, because, fuck yesterday it did not seem to matter to her at all. 

But Fiona continues to insist that she has nothing to be sorry for, that she deserves it for all her hard work; while he insists that she does, of course she does have to feel sorry, for being selfish, for choosing money over him, for betraying who she is. 

“These kids are helpless, and you are not!” And full circle they come.

 

***

The thing about rage, once he lets it out, it feels good. It feels like opening the floodgate, like there’s been lots of it stored deep inside of him and now it’s flowing free. And he  _feels_. 

Trevor tries to soothe him, offers to talk it out, is surprised when Ian refuses. But Ian does not want to calm down, he wants to let the rage out, feed it until the current is strong enough to maybe empty him out completely.  

And when a couple of days later Ian sees Fiona standing by her car outside the centre as he and Trevor are leaving, he gets his chance.

“The fuck you are doing here?” He stops a good ten feet away from her, crosses his arms. It hurts her, he sees, and it makes a part of him feel good; makes another part of him sick. Trevor freezes next to him.

“I just want to talk, Ian” his sister says quietly “Look, I know you are pissed” she makes a step forward “I don’t care who’s right or wrong anymore” 

 _“Yeah, because, you are wrong” a_  stubborn part of him thinks and he repeats it out loud.

“We both said things that we regret. I don’t care anymore. I just want it to be over” Her voice gets even softer, the way it did when he was a kid and she wanted to soothe him after a bad dream. He clenches his jaw.

“How nice it must be to be you! You always get what you want!” 

Because Ian does not want it to be over, not unless she apologises, not unless she admits she’s been wrong. Because, why should Fiona get away with her mistakes, while all the rest end up paying for theirs tenfold?

“I know you feel wronged, but while I don’t see it that way I’m trying to do a right thing here” 

“I called Margo. She’s renting out another building on Ashford. It’s a nice place, good structure. She promised to waive the lease”

And that’s fucking better! Not only Fiona’s not guilty, she’s ready to swipe in to save the day! There is a white noise in his ears; Trevor says something in the background, but he can’t hear it. He closes the distance to his sister in a couple of steps. 

“I don’t need your fucking building, Fiona!” He shouts in her face

“Then what the fuck do you want?!”

And that’s how they end up shouting at each other in the middle of the street. 

Ian turns around quickly, paces along the pavement. He’s so fucking angry, so fucking angry and so fucking tired and...

“Fuck” He shouts “Fuck! I want you to stop being such a fucking bitch!!” And there is so much fucking rage inside him. He grabs an empty bottle at his feet and throws it at the window if her car. It shatters, doesn't seem to have made any impact on the glass, but the psychological effect is immediate. Fiona's mouth gaps open, eyes huge as a saucers stare at him.  

“Fuck’s wrong with you?” Fiona marches towards him “I’m trying to move forward here and you are behaving like a toddler. What’s going on with you?” 

Suddenly her entire face changes into that impression - scared, worried, accusing little impression and he doesn’t even need to guess what her words next are going to be:

“Are you off your meds?”

And he can’t keep his chuckle in, because of fucking course. Suddenly all his rage is just... subdued. And there is just hurt left, the same bone-deep hurt that he swore to himself he would never feel again. 

“Are you?” She presses on

“Yes, Fiona. I’m taking my fucking meds. I’m just fucking angry” he feels his voice tremble and fights to keep it under control “Are you going to accuse me of being off my meds every time I’m fucking angry for the rest of my life?”

It’s satisfying to see a flash of guilt in Fiona’s eyes before he leaves. 

 

***

That night Ian lies on his childhood bed in his childhood home and thinks about how many lonely, bitter nights he spent like that, staring at the cracked ceiling. The rage is not gone, but it lays dormant now, deep underneath his bones; unproductive, unfulfilling and so utterly _pointless_. And there is no one in this house or this city that he can talk to. 

Trevor does not understand. He gets his building and believes that it’s good, that it means it’s all over. Ian’s anger worries him and he does not get it; doesn’t get that it’s not about a damn building; doesn’t understand the complex mix of failure, betrayal, disgust, guilt that has been plummeting Ian for the last couple of days. Doesn’t know that sometimes you need to be angry, fight it out, scream it out, fuck it out.

Instead he dances around Ian, tries to ask him the same thing Fiona did in a way that’s not. And for the first ( _second_ ) time since they met Ian definitely doesn’t want him around. 

But there is no one else either. Lip’s got so much of his own shit going on, Carl’s in love, Debbie’s got a kid, Liam’s a kid. And Fiona... 

When she knocks on his door later that night, he’s just too tired to fight it; too tired, too lonely, too wrung out. 

“I want us to be ok” She says and looks at him pleadingly. It’s not an apology, but maybe it’s the best he’s going to get. And maybe he’s not going to get what he  _wants_  from anyone; maybe it’s not possible. Maybe he should stop searching for a purpose in other people.

“We are” he reassures her and means it. They are as all right as they are going to be. It takes a while for het to accept, so maybe she does know how much she hurt him, even if she doesn’t understand why. 

“I love you, you know?” she asks before she leaves and he wonders what it means.

 

***

“Hey, can I ask you something” he asks Sue a couple of days later.

“Just did, sweet cheeks” she singsongs, takes a sip of her frappe. It’s their first quiet shift in forever, the traffic is light this mid-morning and Sue cruises the rig at comfortable speed, wind blowing in throw open windows.

“Have I been... behaving strange lately” he swallows “You know, like irrationally?”

“Been a prissy bitch lately; snapping at people with no reason” Sue admits “But nothing too weird. I just though the heat was getting to you” she looks at him sideways. 

“So, I wasn’t like ... screwing things up? Blowing them out of proportion?”

“No, you are doing good” She chances a longer glance “what’s up, kid? You are feeling off?”

“No, no, I feel fine” Ian looks out of the window “just some stuff at home”.

“Hmm. Wanna spill?” Ian does; tries to keep the story objective, fails miserably, but Sue’s smart enough to read between the lines. She doesn’t interrupt him, lets him talk it out, while she just keeps the eyes on the road. 

“Well, your sister was a bit of a bitch” she says when she’s done “it wouldn’t have killed her to apologise. On the other hand, you” She points her finger in his direction “behaved like an angry child”

Ian doesn’t love hearing it, but he’s not pissed off about it either. That's the thing about Sue that he likes, she can deliver the harsh truth like nobody else. 

“And now you are pouting like one” She scrunches her face in what’s definitely doesn’t look like his face “I’m not saying you didn’t have grounds to be angry, but did you have to take it so far?”

“That’s what Fiona said. And then she accused me of not taking my meds” He signs “I’m taking them, by the way”

“Not doubting you, Ian. Just, you know that stuff can be volatile. You feel off, best check it out”

“I guess... it just felt kind of good at the time” he admits “I didn’t want to stop being angry, you know? Or maybe I just couldn’t” he lowers his gaze, stares at his clasped hands “We used to be a family, you know? And now I don’t know what we are”

“Maybe that’s the problem”

“What do you mean?” He frowns at her

“There are how many of you living in this house? 5? Plus, a baby?” Sue shrugs “You are in your twenties, Ian. People move out of home at this age. Maybe you are all just tired of leaving on each other’s head”

And there is truth in it, Ian knows, particularly with how fucking noisy and crowded the house has been in the last month. 

“It’s not like I have a choice” he shrugs “Financially, I mean”

“You sure?” Sue asks “I mean, you are not going to get a loft on Northside, but I think you can scrap for some shitty studio a couple of blocks south. Pick up a couple of extra shifts, stop buying Nike sneakers you love so much and you might just make it”

"Besides, can't you move together with your boyfriend?" 

"No" he replies quickly, a bitter taste in his mouth "It's too early for that" 

 

***

He does go to check his meds out. It’s been almost three months since his last check up, anyway, so his psychiatrist is not concerned about his visit. They do the moods scale exercise several times, discuss all the symptoms. In the end, she suggests they leave it as it is. 

“It’s a good combo, Ian. You don’t get many side effects. If the situation recurs well have to start tweaking, but I think it might just be stress. You know your insurance covers a couple of hours of therapy a month if you need it”

“I will think about it” says Ian, same thing he always says. 

It's quiet in the house when he comes back home that night. Fiona is sitting on the coach sorting out some papers, her brow furrowed. She turns as she sees him enter and her face grows tender and wary at the same time. They've been avoiding each other for the last couple of days.

"Hey" she says softly

"Hey" Ian replies, comes to sit next to her. For a while there is just silence and Ian feels weirdly peaceful. He takes a deep breath. 

"I'm sorry" he says finally "For some of the staff I said"

Fiona nods, inches closer to him.

"I'm sorry too, Ian" that helps a little, makes breathing easier.

"I checked out my meds" he admits "my doctor thinks everything's fine"

"Ok" Fiona nods again "I am glad"

Ian would have liked an apology for that too, but he knows he's not going to get it. They start speaking at the same time:

"How's the new building?"

"I think, I'm going to move out soon"

"What?" Fiona stares at him in shock "No, Ian, no, if it's because..."

"It's not" he turns around, grabs at her hand, squeezes it "Fi, it's not, I promise. We are all right. We are fine. I just... I just need to do it. Should have a while ago. I just... 

And he doesn't say what's on his mind, like  _"It's too fucking loud here these days" or "I feel like we are all neighbours anyway" or "Maybe if I move away I'll start dreaming again" or "Maybe if I'm on my own, I'll get over it soon"_

Instead he says "I just feel like it's time, you know? To have my own shitty hole". Knows he hit it right when Fiona smirks. 

"Besides, Trevor and I are back together; we can't keep crashing here and his place is also crowded" 

"Ok" she smiles at him gently and Ian breathes out a sign of relief. He doesn't have energy for another fight, not today.  "I've been thinking about the same, you know? Moving into one of the apartments? Can't quite afford it yet, though, not with all this roof work" 

Ian squeezes her hand again and let's go:

"Well, I'm going to be gone soon and so will Carl and his crazy girlfriend; Frank's bound to fuck off somewhere soon too, so it's going to get peaceful here again" 

"Peaceful? At Gallaghers? That would be the first!"  It's easier to laugh away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ian's conflict with Fiona was another moment in season 8 when I thought it might be getting somewhere interesting. It also felt somewhat in Ian's character - he can hold a grudge like no one else because he's so emotional (e.g. season 2 conflict with Lip). In my opinion they took it too far and of course it did not have any follow up. But the story itself fit very well in where Ian is at in my story - basically, totally lost, conflicted and starting to unravel.
> 
> P.S. I forgot to mention when posting yesterday - I really like Sue's character. I think she and Ian mesh together quite well, because she's a little bit a "Mickey" in female form - ruff around the edges, sarcastic, but with a heart of gold.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He remembers a time when he was able to be softer, when he allowed his edges to blur, his wounds to close. There are 16 months of prison and being alone and a fucking border between him and those memories. This place, these people - they make it easier to remember.

_Late July 2017, Mexico_

 

The summer heat in Mexico is fucking unbearable. Mickey constantly feels like he’s being fried on a grill, his skin burns like a motherfucker and even five minutes outside end up with him drenched in sweat. He spends most of his free time lying in a hammock and can only look in disgust at Miguel, Jorge and Anna, who are making the most of summer holidays under the scorching sun. His only consolation is that Elisa, like him, is a creature of shadow. 

Mickey rents a small bungalow just outside Puerto Vallarta and spends a couple of days a week there. The place is basically a shack - no air conditioning, tiny fridge stocked mostly exclusively with beer and fruit, a rack instead of wardrobe and a hole in the floor instead of shower stall. But it's right on the beach so he can dip into the ocean any time he wants. And it's secluded enough so his paranoia is not constantly triggered by nosy tourists. He would be lying if he said heat has turned him into a morning person, but most of the days find him sitting on the terrace soon after sunrise; his skin wet from the sea. He watches white yachts on the horizon, listens to the waves crashing at the shore, drinks instant coffee. Sometimes, if the mood strikes him, he stays like that for hours, smoking cigarettes and sipping beer. Sometimes the irony of the entire situation hits him so hard he laughs - a Milkovich from Chicago, sitting on a fucking beach. 

 

***

"Mickey!" Juan is the first to see him as he parks the old jeep under a shade, probably because he's swinging from one of the few tall trees in the yard. 

"Mama, mama!!" He shouts on the top of his lungs and the brunette man cringes "Mickey esta a casa!"

"Why the fuck you are making so much noise?" Mickey complaints as he exits the car; he looks up and squints against the streams of light that cut through the branches. 

"I'm not shouting!" Jorge shouts back, clearly believing half a dozen feet separating him from the ground impacts the way the sound travels. He swings once, twice and then jumps, lands in the dry dirt right by Mickeys feet, sending a cloud of dust in his face. 

"Fuck, kid” Mickey coughs "The hell you are doing? Trying to break your neck?"

"Where've you been? Why didn't you tell me you were coming? How's the city?" 

"In the city. Why should I? It's a city" Replies Mickey curtly, trying to hide amusement by annoyance, but the kid was born resistant to sarcasm. He trails behind him as the ex-con turns towards the house. 

Regina greets him on the porch, a huge bowl of salad in one hand and a bowl water in another.

"Mickey, welcome" she smiles at him "you are right on time for lunch. Go wash up. Antonio and Miguel are inside. Jorge, send your sister my way" 

At first Mickey rents the bungalow with the idea to move to the coast permanently; spends most of his time there for a week or two - he likes the beach, his lazy days on the deck, being on his own. But as the first rush of the living Pacific paradise passes, he starts coming back to the village more and more often, until he again spends most of his week here. Part of it is his sense of precaution - he can't allow American tourists to become too familiar with his face. 

But it's also...  He wouldn't necessarily say that he  _misses_  Santa Theresa, but there is always something pleasantly familiar in entering the bar and dropping on the rocketry high chair across from the owner.

Antonio greets him like always does, in the nonchalant way, like it doesn't matter whether they saw each other a week or a minute ago. It's kind of nice. 

And you don't need to point a gun to his head to get him to admit there are worse places to be than sitting at a large family table, eating delicious food - enough to feed an army - and trying not to get lost in rapid Spanish conversation. He could admit that it's quite amusing to see old señora Guerrero shoot disapproving glances at him and Hector smoking; watch Anna trying to read a book under the table quietly; listen to Eliza, Jorge and Miguel bombard him with questions. 

It feels strange to accept that he  _likes_  these people. 

He likes Antonio, his steady and silent nature, he likes how hard the man works, how much he seems to care about his family. He hasn't seen any good fathers in his childhood and there is something satisfying to have the evidence that they exist in this world. He likes Regina, soft and talkative and so motherly it sometimes makes him ache. He likes Miguel, that never stopping energy machine of words, actions and emotions; likes his easy-going company and fearless nature.... even though sometimes... Sometimes looking at Miguel hurts and he is secretly glad the kid’s so obviously straight, because if he wasn’t... Mickey doesn’t think it would have been a good idea. He'll even grudgingly admit to liking the kids, Jorge's never-ending curiosity, Elisa’s stubborn belief that he’s her eternal protector and confidant and Anna's quiet sceptical intelligence. 

He likes these people and, bizarrely they seem to like him back. And it still throws him sometimes, because he’s a fucking fugitive on a run and what is he thinking playing house with a big loud Mexican family...? But maybe, slowly Mickey is coming to terms with the fact that liking people is fucking nice.

 

***

Two months of steady trade is not enough to change what half a dozen years of poverty inflicted. And it's not like Mickey gets into every fucking house in the village and spies in their fridges and wardrobes. But slowly he does see improvements - fish starts to appear on Guerreros table, a new sign glitters in front of Jorge's auto stop; Delgado's car stops making these terrible noises; agave plantation workers begin to show up at the bar every week, a local pre-school gets a face-lift and a new nurse joins Jorge’s wife at the medical centre.

By now Mickey understands the way money circulates in a community like this one; the way social obligations fall on those who are able. He knows it's not pure selflessness, knows it's born out of survival instinct. But the knowledge does shit for how surreal he feels every time he drops off señora Guerrero at church with boxes of food for the poor.

 

***

"Americano, we are out of boxes! The delivery is due tomorrow and I have no boxes!!!" Hectors baritone resonates around the tiny back office accompanied by the sound of his boots as he stomps down the narrow corridor. A moment later his white head appears in the door still shouting ”You hear me? We are out of boxes!!!" 

Mickey doesn't move from his position, first because he knows it drives the old man crazy, secondly because any move of his body might disrupt the blessed flow of air from the single fan on the room. He waits until Hector opens his mouth to call to him again and replies not lifting his gaze from the books:

"First, we are not out of boxes, they are in the backyard. Second, the delivery is due on Wednesday, not tomorrow. Third, stop fucking shouting"

"It's due tomorrow" insists Hector

"It's due on Wednesday. I know, I'm fucking delivering it" 

"I can't understand you!" Hector resorts with his favourite argument. He keeps insisting Mickeys accent in Spanish is terrible and the ex-con can't say he's completely wrong, but hey, he manages to get by!

Nowhere the change has been as apparent as in the tequila factory. What used to be a half closed off building with only Hector and a couple of part-time kids for staff, is now a buzzing place, filled with constant noise of machines and chatter from half a dozen workers.

And that's another reason why Mickey rarely spends more than a couple of days a week from Santa Theresa. Because, no matter how good Hector is with everything to do with tequila he fucking sucks at business. The books have not been filled for years, the receipts are kept in shot glasses, the supplies are counted using astronomical signs and Hector keeps firing people on the ground that they are careless with his precious machines. And, sure, who fucking cared when they were producing a tenth of their potential? But the first time Mickey enters the factory after the deal with the cartel, he almost breaks his leg on some boxes because he's too distracted by a screaming match between two shirtless Mexican workers.

And it's not that Mickey knows that much about business himself, but at least he's got more sense than the old man. And elder Guerrero brothers have their own business to run, Chavez are busy with agave, Manuel runs around securing contracts, Miguel loves fixing cars and driving tourists too much and Delgado is, frankly, an idiot. So next morning Mickey borrows Anna's calculator and Eliza's Spanish dictionary and heads to the factory.

In retrospect he would have been better off borrowing Antonio's patience. Because working with Hector is like trying to negotiate with a perpetually drunk Santa Claus with anger management issues. Most of their conversations end up in screaming matches, and Mickey's supply of local swear words grows disproportionally. Hector loves having him around, but he defends his shot glass classification systems, fiercely opposes any changes and keeps trying to fire people. 

Mickey powers through, gets Antonio to explain simple bookkeeping to him, builds a schedule, sorts out the supply deliveries. The local workers are not fans of listening to "Americano" who speaks broken Spanish; they show it to him in the times-old manner. But Mickey still got prison trained fists and Southside dirty tricks and the guys soon realise that he might be a tough fucker, but he's at least not as insane as Hector. 

As the summer crawls by, things get better, and even Hector grudgingly admits it now. When he's not busy getting hysterical over nothing, that is. 

Disappointed that Mickey dismissed his concerns easily, and still convinced about the delivery time, Hector leaves the back office in a huff, white beard flying behind him. Mickey can hear him in the main room picking up on the workers over some invisible slight. He lost the count of times in the last couple of months he had to pacify a group of angry guys on one side and furious tequila maker on the other as they argue passionately. Sometimes it feels too similar to his days as a pimp; he's fucking glad for a distinctive sound of Spanish language and male baritones that remind him that he's not in the middle of the fucking living room at the old Milkovich house arguing with Russian prostitutes.

When he grows tired of the receipts and books, Mickey grabs a bottle of water and goes out to stretch his legs. He finds Hector near one of the machines, staring thoughtfully and muttering something under his breath. 

"Que pasa?" Mickey comes closer, wonders how Hector can stand to be dressed in pants and long sleeve shirt in this heat. He himself is melting in a tank top and loose shorts.

"Damn pressing machine" Hector signs unhappily "Too old, too slow" he shows Mick a rotted metal pin in his hand "Need to replace again" 

Mickey shrugs. He knows the machine is slow, but it does the job and they don't have money to replace it right now. All the factory profits are spent on maintenance and people need their money for other things. 

"It's going to survive for another few months, right?"

"At least 6" Hector shakes his head. He loves his machines, hates anything not working properly here. 

"We'll get money by then. How much would a new one cost, anyway?"  

"Not new, just a new second hand. 50 thousand pesos" Hector says wistfully

"Really?" the sum feels stupidly low to him, he gets just about the same from every USA delivery. Granted the factory still can't afford it, but...

He chases the thought away. It's not  _his_  factory or his machines. He needs fucking money, he can't spend it on business investment. And he might not even be here in 2 weeks let alone 6 months. 

A week later when he watches the workers unload an almost new machine from the car he still doesn't know whether he's an idiot or just plain crazy. 

 

***

Sometimes Mickey wonders what fucked him up more, prison or his father. He's pretty sure the old bastard takes the medal; that most of his quirks - being constantly wary of his surroundings, a trigger-happy response, the tendency to keep to himself, to see everyone around him as a threat - are all inheritance of his childhood. Prison had just enhanced them, had added a few marks of its own like dislike for closed off places and a habit to live out of one bag (he used to be a master hoarder!). 

Some of these things will probably never change, and Mickey's ok with it - happy to keep them even because those are the things that kept him alive so far. Others he would rather do without, though he figures he doesn't have much of a choice in it. But there are also things that he knows  _can_  change, has changed in the past; he remembers a time when he was able to be softer, when he allowed his edges to blur, his wounds to close. There are 16 months of prison and being alone and a fucking border between him and those memories. This place, these people - they make it easier to remember. 

 

***

Out of all Guerrero kids Mickey is least comfortable around Anna. Jorge and Elisa don't leave him much of a choice - they break into his personal space with questions, games, loud songs. Anna is quiet, tends to spend more time by herself reading or listening to music in her earphones. There is something thoughtful and sceptical in the way she looks at the world, at him - like she knows all the secrets in the universe and isn't impressed. 

So, when he hears someone crying quietly in the garden and goes to investigate, the last thing he expects to see is Anna, sitting on a tree trunk and kicking the ground with her feet, large tears running down her face. He's tempted to turn away - he knows fuck all about little girls and their sorrows and nobody asked him here. But there is something a little heart-breaking and a little worrying in seeing this kid crying her eyes out. Tentatively he joins her on the trunk, leaving some space between them in case she doesn't want company. 

"Que pasa?" He asks trying to keep his voice casual.

For a long while there is no response, no movement from the little girl, just quiet sniffling. And Mickey should leave, get Eliza, maybe or even Regina, but instead he stays exactly where he is.

"Estupido!" Says Anna suddenly, angry and strong "Mi amigos, estupido! Don't want me to go with them tomorrow" 

Mickey doesn't expect it, was bracing himself for something more dramatic like maybe someone hurt her or she lost her puppy or... 

 _"Fuck kid, if that's the biggest of your problems, you got a sweet life!"_  Is the first response he can come up with. And yeah, it might be harsh, but what the fuck is he supposed to do with this information? He can hardly beat up bitchy 7-year-old girls, can he? 

He holds the impulse back. Just because his childhood was fucked up doesn't mean the kid's mundane problems mean nothing. And Anna doesn't seem to require any kind of response from him, just sits by his side and continues to sniff.

"People  _are_  stupid fucks" says Mickey in the end; because that's something the kid  _should_  know. It's all right to be sheltered if you got a lucky ticket in life; it's not all right to be naive

The girl's crying subsides slowly and she looks thoughtful like she's contemplating some deeper meaning behind his words. In the end, she nods gravely as if she'd just arrived at some monumental conclusion. 

"What do I do then?"

Mickey shrugs:

"Ignore and avoid them? Tell them they are stupid fucks? Break their noses if they don't listen? To be honest I still haven't figured out the answer" 

Anna isn't crying anymore but she still looks unhappily, like she wants  _the answer_. Mickey figures she probably does, she's an industrious kid, loves maths and books - she probably expects the world to be fucking  _logical_. That he can't help her with. 

"Want to drive with me to the coast tomorrow? We'll take your siblings and I'll show you my house" He offers instead and can't help the warm feeling spreading in his chest when Anna's eyes light up at the rare treat. 

 

***

It's not that he keeps his place in Puerto Vallarta a secret from Guerreros - they know he has it and whereabouts it's located. It's not about trust either - he sleeps in their house 4 nights out of 7, if they want to sell him out they will. 

It's just that outside of business he mostly goes to Puerto Vallarta for two things - to be alone and to fuck. 

Being alone is... important. Has always been important; in his early childhood when he used to escape the chaos of his house to abandoned buildings; in his teenage years when his favourite way to escape his problems, his father, himself was to shoot at things under the L.

Prison turned it into a need equal to the need of air.

When Mickey made the deal he never thought that it would be the hardest part of being inside. He's been to juvie twice, he knew how to live in a crowded place, how to get his privacy among hundreds of other people. It was gang wars and politics and having to clean the toilets that he feared. But there was something in the infinity of being inside (because, fuck it, 8 fucking years!), of knowing there was absolutely nothing on the other side, not if he lets all these years to pass; there was something in having to be constantly on alert - that made being around others unbearable. That came so close to breaking him completely. So being able to be alone here, watch the ocean as the darkness of the night descends, hear nothing but the waves – it is like breathing air. 

And then there is fucking which is a completely different topic.

 

***

"Have you met Estrella?" Regina asks him one day in as she hands him the drink. It's one of the rare nights she joins her husband behind the bar. Mickey's just finished a poker game and he's feeling pretty good about winning. 

He sighs, because he can guess where it's going to, has seen her pull the trick on Miguel a dozen times before. 

Miguel is considered a bit of a local heartbreaker and Mickey's not surprised - the kid is fucking hot. He falls in and out of love at the drop of the pin and Mickey rarely sees him with the same girl more than twice. The female part of the household - señora Guerrero, Regina, Theresa, even Eliza - all seem scandalised at his inconsistent nature, continuously try to set him up with someone, a "nice girl" as they call them. Mickey's had a few laughs at young man's expense. He's never thought he'll be on a receiving end of Regina’s matchmaking abilities

"She's very nice, you know" continues Regina clearly taking his silence as interest "pretty, speaks a little English. Though your Spanish is so good already"

And he has a choice. He can easily dodge the question, invent an excuse, pretend he doesn't like Estrella. Regina’s not going to press and he doesn’t own anyone an explanation and one of the Delgados is sitting right next to him, which means that whatever he says will be known to the entire village by the end of the week. But he doesn't know how long he has left here and he likes these people. And maybe this - not living a lie - can be one of those things that used to be better, that he can take back. 

"Regina" he turns to her, speaks slowly so that it's clear what he means "I don't like girls. I like guys" 

The silence falls onto the company. Miguel’s hand freezes, a glass halfway to his mouth; Regina's lips and eyes forms a perfect O. Slowly she turns to her husband, her expression something between disbelief and accusation. Antonio shrugs and continues to clean the glasses. 

“I’m so sorry” Regina turns to Mickey quickly “I should not have presumed. Antonio told me, but I did not believe him” it’s Mickey’s turn to be surprised and he stares at the old man long and hard, but the only response he gets is another shrug. Fucking king of shrugs!

“You are not angry at me, are you?” Regina gently touches his arm and he scowls back in what he hopes is not a harsh way.

“It’s fine” he forces out “don’t worry about it” he turns to Delgado who’s been sitting with his mouth open for the entire conversation “And what the fuck are you starting at?!”

 

***

Mickey’s fucking dying. Not metaphorically dying, but literally - with his heart rate over the moon, air barely making it into his lungs and muscles spasming. He gulps desperately and forces his arms and legs to move one - two - three more times, until he can feel the slick sand under his toes and hands and kind half drag, half throw himself out of the water. He rolls onto his back and just breathes, taking the precious beautiful air in. 

“I’ve never seen an adult man to be less graceful in the water” Miguel laughs somewhere behind him and Mickey flips him off without turning. Takes a couple of more breaths and finally rolls over; makes his way to the young Mexican. Miguel’s sitting cross legged near their clothes, his skin’s already almost dry, lucky bastard as he made it out of water a good five minutes before the ex-con.

“I hate you” says Mickey honestly as he grabs a bottle of water and takes a couple of gulps, frowning at how disgustingly warm it tastes “I thought you, country folks, didn’t have time to spend on the beach”

It’s late afternoon and they have just finished one of their deliveries up north of Puerto Vallarta. The drive is long, hot and boring and when Miguel suggests they stop for a swim at one of the more secluded beaches along the cost, Mickey is all in. He doesn’t quite realise what Miguel had in mind - climb a rock, jump off it, swim around a quarter of a mile to get back to the beach.

“One of our uncles used to live by the coast. He was a fisherman. We spent all our summers at his place’ explains Miguel. Mickey nods - of course, another Guerrero relative. 

“You never learned to swim as a kid?” Miguel asks curiously passing him the sunglasses. He does it sometimes - ask about Mickey’s past - and there is something so honest in his curiosity that makes it difficult to dismiss him like Mickey does with anyone else who pries. 

“Grew up in the city” he says simply and it seems like an explanation enough - Mexican cities from what Mickey’s seen don’t exactly have a public pool on every corner. 

“Well, you are getting much better. Jorge' s not a bad teacher” 

“It’s not that bad” Mickey admits. Because it was embarrassing to get a 10-year-old boy to teach him to swim, but there is something accelerating in the feeling of floating in the water. And his lungs are still burning and his legs feel like jelly and his back is going to start turning red in 5 minutes, but it’s also kind of nice. 

They sit in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes.

“Listen” Miguel says finally and for the first time since they met Mickey can swear the younger’s man is fumbling “You know what you told Regina last week?” Mickey hums non-comital wondering where the conversation is going. So far, there has not been any reaction to his confession in the village if you discount a couple of grandmas sending him scandalous looks at the local grocery. 

“I just... I hope I... didn’t offend you by all this talk about girls?” Miguel says finally and Mickey’s a little surprised 

Miguel does talk about girls a lot, in graphic details; but Mickey never actually minded, never saw it as a girl talk, rather just a talk. He doesn’t listen half of the time anyway; he reassures Miguel of just that.  

“Oh! That's why your advice is so useless!" Mickey wants to point out that he's never offered any fucking advice, but Miguel continues "It’s just, I shouldn’t have presumed. I’m not some dumb villager, I know some guys like guys” he stresses and Mickey thinks that maybe a part of this is Miguel not wanting to be seen close-minded. 

“Very fucking worldly of you” confirms Mickey and gets a handful of sand on his back for his sarcasm. 

“So, are you, like, dating anyone in Puerto Vallarta?” The young man continues and Mickey snorts. 

He's definitely not dating anyone, at least not in a sense that Miguel would put into the word. By now he has a sort of pattern. Whenever the mood strikes him he heads out to one of the bars in the tourist area, never the same place in one month; picks someone young and eager, which is easy to find in a place where everybody wants to have fun. At first, he sticks to quick blowjobs in the dark alleys, but as his paranoia calms down a bit and he learns how to single out non-Americans in the crowd, he starts accepting invitations to hotel rooms. And, fuck, it's nice to get it on a comfortable king bed, fully naked, without a hurry in the world. Sometimes it's really good, sometimes not so much, but it takes the edge off. And thanks to the constantly fluctuating tourist population he rarely has to worry about running into his bed partners again. No, he's definitely not dating.

"I think I prefer you yapping about girls" sighs Mickey "Give me my pants. I want a smoke"

"Come on!" Miguel flings the garment at him "You'll have to fess up at some point. Otherwise, Regina will start looking out for eligible bachelors for you too" Mickey thinks it's probably true

"I'm not a dating type, Miguel" he says simply and the young man falls silent

"Oh" Mickey can feel him looking at him as he pulls out a cigarette; throws the pack back "It's just, you said you had a lover once and I just assumed... Or did you mean the mother of your son?"

For a second Mickey freezes before remembering that yes, he did tell Miguel about that. He contemplates ignoring the young Mexican - it wouldn't be the first time. He doesn't know what prompts him to answer. 

"No. It was... he was a guy, my lover" he lights the cigarette, stares at the impossible blueness of the ocean "We never dated, though… He was my family" 

"Oh" Miguel falls silent once again, like he understands. Mickey thinks he probably does, with his own strong sense of family "Then why ..." but Mickey's had enough. The sun is slowly starting to set and the world bathed in the warm light is beautiful; and some things just come too close to the surface sometimes.  

"Miguel" he interrupts firmly, stabs out his cigarette; digs his fingers deep into the golden sand to bury it " I told you - none of it matters anymore" he gets up and goes back into the sea.

On the way home, Miguel drives while Mickey smokes and stares out of the open window enjoying tough Latino rock that Miguel chooses when it's his turn at the wheel. 

"So" the young man shouts over the radio" you think I get better chance with Barbara if I take her out for a meal or movies?"

"How the fuck should I know?" Miguel laughs and after a while Mickey can't quite keep the scowl on his face.

 

***

Memories can be a bitch, Mickey knows; has had 16 months in prison to learn exactly how much destruction they can wreck on his brain. 

Here things are easier, have been getting easier since that morning he woke up from drunken stupor and helped Antonio carry boxes. Since then there's been enough distractions - to his mind and senses - that he can mostly keep the memories at bay. Most of the times he can focus on here and now.

Not always, though.

Sometimes, the feeling settles over his shoulders, of terrible, mind-mumbling loss, and there is fuck all he can do about it. Those moods always come accompanied by an onslaught of memories - good, bad, beautiful, terrible - a never-ending wheel. It's useless, he knows, absolutely useless to think about it  _now_. And he's told it himself before in the past, but it's never been truer. Because, it's no longer 4 years to wait for Ian to come back; or 8 years to wait to get out ( _he knew he was never going to make it anyway_ ); it's forever. 

It should be easier to push the memories away - there is absolutely nothing to remind him or Chicago, of Ian, of the past. 

But more than memories of reality, what gets to him are memories of the  _dreams_. And that's fucking crazy because he knew even when he was dreaming them that they were never going to happen.

But the fucking truth is that sitting here on the beach, under the hot sun, looking at the ocean, he sometimes starts missing Ian so much... It feels like there is a metal bar wrapped around his chest, squeezing his heart and lungs out, crushing his ribs. Those moments... he sits on the deck of his snack in Puerto Vallarta and he can almost  _feel_  the redhead sitting next to him; feel a phantom touch of their shoulders bumping; hear his laugh at the waves crashing at their feet; taste the sun and sea salt on his skin. It's like his entire being suddenly becomes full of Ian, Ian, Ian and ... it makes him so fucking angry and helpless and sad. And he fucking misses him, even though Ian's never been here. 

Moments like that, his place in Puerto Vallarta feels like a mockery of the worst kind - a dream he wanted to share. 

A couple of times he tries to chase the memories away with heavy drinking and company. He goes out to his usual haunts; hooks up with a stranger; tries to get lost in pure physicality. It doesn't end well; he wakes up hungover, in bed with some redhead, with head full of new memories that feel  _wrong_  and a bitter taste of betrayal in his mouth. 

In the end he figures out that there is nothing he can do. Let's the loss and misery drag him under like a wave until he can submerge on the other side gasping for air and continue swimming.

 

***

The message comes when Mickey is parking the car. For a moment he stares at it dumbly, just one word "Call" flashing on the screen. 

The sick feeling of dread settles over his stomach as he makes his way to the house. There is nothing strange in the message itself - that's how Iggy and Colin always reach out to him anyway, but the timing is off. They typically only contact each other, every twelve days, before a pick up is due, and it's only been a week since Mick saw them both near the border.

He goes through a mental checklist of things to do as he retrieves a new burner phone - retrieve the money, drive back to Santa Theresa to pick up his car... How much time does he have? Maybe it's nothing...

The dial rings on the line feel endless, but finally he hears Iggy's voice on the other end.

"The fuck's wrong?" He barks, nervous and angry 

"Hey Mick" Iggy sounds slightly nervous and Mickey's hackles rise "Hm.."

"Why the fuck are you calling? Have you heard from the police?"

"What? No! No, man" Iggy falls silent and then blurts out

"Dad's dead"

"What?" It's the last thing Mickey expects. He feels tension leaving his body "When?"

"Two days ago, but we just got a call now" Mickey nods, not like prison authorities would be in a rush. 

"Turf war got to him in the end, fucking bastard"

"No, it was some brain thingy" says Iggy

"What?" Mickey feels like he's been clocked again

"Dad... they said it was his brain, like a stroke"

"Fucking bastard" Mickey's starts walking and realizes that his legs feel like rubber

"Yeah" Iggy pauses "Anyway, we thought we should let you know. Seemed right"

Mickey nods; he gets it. Fucked up or not, it's a family thing. 

"Thanks. Make sure you spit in his grave on my behalf" Iggy chuckles and they quickly say their goodbyes. 

Slowly, Mickey makes his way to the deck, stares at the blue of the ocean in front of him.

_"Fucking bastard"_

 

***

The problem with getting close with people in Santa Theresa is that he can no longer use Antonio's bar to get angry drunk. Well, technically he can - nobody will fucking stop him; nobody will bother him even. But he'll feel people's worried gazes, their unasked questions and that would be too much. Santa Theresa doesn't work that way anymore.

So, in those moments when he really just wants to get drunk, he goes to a bar nearby. It's a quiet place, perpetually dark with grumpy old bartender and an ancient radio set on playing the saddest Latino music Mickey ever heard - a perfect place to sit down, nurse stale whisky and feel sorry for himself. 

And that's exactly what Mickey needs right now. 

It's relatively early, but it doesn't make any difference - the clientele here doesn't give a damn about lunch or dinner hours. It has nothing in common with joyful party crowd of central Puerto Vallarta. They are mostly local people and they wear the sad stories of their fucked-up lives on their faces. There is no conversation, no card games, no fights; just a bunch of sad assholes sitting in silence and staring at their glasses. 

He orders a JD on the rocks and settles at the bar. There is only one other patron he can see this way - an old guy a couple of sits to the right. He's the only foreigner Mickey's ever seen in the place and he always sits at the same seat, a large stack of banknotes in front of him. Every half an hour he pulls a note off the stack and orders a whisky; one, two, five -  until all the notes are gone. After that he nurses his last drink as long as he can and then just sits around quietly before leaving on badly coordinated legs. Today is different - the stack of notes is untouched and there is a watch on the table that the guy is methodically tapping against the surface. 

"You waiting for a signal or something" Mickey grits through his teeth after half an hour. It's not that the tapping is particularly irritating, but everything gets on his nerves right now. And maybe he's looking for a fight because he turns around and stares the guy down for good measure. 

The guy's gaze snaps up to meet his and Mickey realizes with surprise that he's not  _that_  old. Late forties-early fifties, maybe; going full grey, with deep wrinkles on the forehead, but his skin is clear of the characteristic red blotches of a seasoned alcoholic and a pair of deep set grey eyes observe Mickey with surprising clarity. 

"I beg your pardon?" they guy doesn't sound American, but Mickey struggles to place his accent; decides he doesn't give a fuck anyway

"You've been banging on the fucking counter for half an hour" continues Mickey grumpily "Are you trying to summon whisky out of air? Because, it ain't gonna work"

"Ah, my apologies" the guy stops tapping and locks his hands instead "I am just waiting until I can start my quota for the day. So, I'm trying to placate the urge to drink with stimulation of other senses"

Mickey stares; casts a look at the guys hands, soft skin and well-maintained nails; figures the accent must be from somewhere posh.

"I'm trying to only drink a certain amount every day" the banknotes guy explains "An amount derived based on carefully collected medical data. And if I start until 6 pm I'd drink it too quickly" 

"I'm no doctor, but with what you've been consuming your liver's probably a goner either way" 

"Don't give a shit about my liver" the tapping resumes "Just my dignity"

"You are sitting in a dirty bar surrounded by alcoholics, in fucking Mexico, drinking shitty whisky every day. And you want to maintain your dignity?" Mickey quirks an eyebrow 

The tapping guy laughs suddenly; an unexpectedly joyous sound cutting through the room. Bartender sends them a disgusted look as if laughing is some kind of crime.

"Yeah, funny isn't it?" He continuous to laugh quietly as Mickey returns to his drink "the intricacies of human mind" he glances at the watch, he lifts the first banknote and bartender turns around as if on cue. 

"I'm Jonathan" Mickey shrugs

"Don't give a fuck"  

"Nobody does" agrees Jonathan easily, turns away from Mickey to stare straight ahead. Mickey snorts and shoots his neighbour an incredulous glance

"They teach you this shit in AA?" the guy chuckles, though there is nothing funny in his expression

"Something like that" he gulps half his glass "Used to be a psychiatrist"

"Really?" Mickey asks not really believing him "And then you decided to move to Mexico and become an alcoholic?" 

"No" Jonathan tilts his head "I had an affair with a patient, lost my license, then lost my wife. And  _then_  I decided to move to Mexico and become an alcoholic"

Mickey lifts his glass in acknowledgement - that's the kind of story that doesn't look out of place here, there might even be a split hair of truth around it.

They drink in silence for a while. Mickey feels like his head is full of cotton, yet every thought comes with a razor cut edge. He can see the shrink guy shooting him occasional glances. 

"I've never seen you here before at this time" Jonathan motions towards Mickey's glass, his third in half an hour "Or drinking that much"

Mickey shoots him a glare

"Now you want to maintain  _my_  dignity? Or just pulling a shrink on me"

"Touché" Jonathan lifts his glass as if saluting "professional deformation. I like patterns" he motions to his cash stack "I'm always curious when they break" 

Mickey shrugs, doesn't know whether it's the alcohol or the surreal nature of the entire thing that makes him respond.

"Well, my fucking father managed to kick the fucking bucket" he tips the glass "so I'm celebrating" 

"Hmm... no love lost?" 

And Mickey doesn't want to talk about it, he really, really doesn't. He just wants to go back to drinking. But he can't stop the words flying out of his mouth:

"He was a fucking homophobic kid-beating drug-dealing sadistic piece of shit! And if there is a hell I hope he rots in it for all the eternity” It feels good to say it. 

"Sound like something he would deserve" acknowledges Jonathan and Mickey snorts.

"Aren't you shrinks supposed to preach forgiveness?" 

"I think that's church's prerogative. And what the hell do I know - I lost my license, remember?" He motions for another drink. 

"What would he burn for?" his drinking companion asks abruptly

"What?" 

"Your father in hell. What would he burn for?"

"You want me to list all they ways he wronged me? Would take fucking forever!" 

Jonathan motions around with his glass

"You got somewhere else to be tonight?" Mickey looks down at his glass, plays around with the rim. 

"How about he beat the fuck out of me and my siblings when we were kids, for once? I had to hide who I am for ages because I was scared he would literally kill me. And when he did learn about it, he did try to kill me" he swallows, breathes in. It's easier now ”He drove my mom to an early grave. Left my brother to vultures because he wanted to save his own ass" he feels his anger dying "He almost killed the person I love most in the world" 

"Sounds terrible" Mickey doesn't understand how his drinking companion manages to sound so sincere "Have you ever thought why?" 

Mickey shrugs "The bastard was always on about making us strong. Making us survivors. And it worked, I'd give him that" He squeezes his glass painfully. He can't remember the last time he talked so much to anyone

"But you know what I really think? He just hated us, hated everyone around him. If he had a choice he would have dragged us all to hell with him"

"He probably would" agree Jonathan "But would you let him?"

Mickey thinks back to a cold Chicago night in March, to the feeling of handcuffs on his wrists and the cold metal under his cheek, blood running down his face. " _I'm taking it up the ass and I love it, Dad!"._ Feeling free and powerful and  _himself_  for the first time in his life. Thinks about fucking awful gay jokes in the Alibi; about waking up in Ian's arms; about calling himself a "boyfriend" in the hospital; about saying " _I like guys_ " to Regina. 

"No chance in hell" he says after a while "He can rot in hell on his own." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's probably one of my favorite chapters in Mickey's arc, I had fun writing it and it ended up much longer than i planned :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first morning Ian wakes up in his apartment it feels like huge relief, like suddenly a tone of weight just sliding off his shoulders.

_Chicago, mid-August_

 

***

Moving out ends up being a way less dramatic affair than Ian expects. One of his colleagues offers him the place he's about to vacate. It's a tiny studio, but it's not far from his work, in a “okeish” area and furnished. And it's cheap, which means he can afford it without selling a kidney. 

He signs the lease on Friday, moves in on Saturday. His entire possessions fit into 3 large vegetables boxes that Fiona gets him from the diner. Trevor comes by in the evening with a cheap coffee maker as a present and they spend a fun couple of hours unpacking. By the time Ian's due to work on Monday he feels like he's as settled in his new place as it's possible to be. 

 

***

Gallaghers react to Ian's moving out in a variety of ways. Fiona looks ecstatic for him, constantly offers her help, throws him a send-off party Gallagher style. Part of it is probably still laced with guilt and awkwardness; they are ok - Ian doesn't want to fight, does not want to hold a grudge  - but there is a relief at not having to see each other every day. 

Lip congratulates him warmly and sincerely when he tells him the morning after he makes the decision. He looks proud and there is something shining in his eyes that Ian has not seen in a while. 

"It's going to be good for you, man" he claps him on the back "But I'm going to miss you" 

 _"How"_  Ian thinks _"it's the first conversation we are having in weeks_ "

"Me too" he says out loud because anything else would cruel and Ian loves his big brother no matter how far away he feels.

"Hmm. Nah, you are going to be getting laid a lot. You and Trevor are back together, right?" Lip cheers him with a cup of coffee "Damn, man, I wish I could be this dedicated to a relationship"

The thought leaves a bitter taste in Ian's mouth, because he's not; he's never been dedicated enough when it counts. He jokes about Sierra, but it seems that Lip is finally over the girl. 

Debbie is too busy to notice his absence much, not between her job, finishing her studies and taking care of Franie. She attends the party though, dances with him joyously, laughs a lot. 

Carl gives him a keychain with an American flag and asks whether he can borrow his apartment occasionally. "When you are at work, dude. Cassidy's feeling anxious with me going back to school soon". Ian puts him in a headlock and they playfight in Gallaghers living room and Ian thinks how much he's going to miss him when he's back at school. A couple of weeks later he slips his younger brother his keys before he's due for a night shift. He comes back to a room cleaned with military precision and a box of condom in his bathroom half empty.

Liam seems the saddest to see Ian go; he doesn't quite remember his brother ever leaving in the past; even last year, when the redhead used to hang out at Caleb's a lot, must feel like forever ego to him. His sorrow, though, is quickly calmed by the realization that come September he's going to have the entire room to himself.

Ian's place less than 20 minutes by bus from Gallaghers house, anyway, so it's not like he's moving away, just out. 

"You must stop by every week at least!" Says Fiona as she drops next to him on the sofa after the party. Ian promises her he will. 

 

***

The first morning Ian wakes up in his apartment it feels like huge relief, like suddenly a tone of weight just sliding off his shoulders. 

For once it's quiet. Not deadly quiet or out in the nature quiet. The apartment building groans and moans just like the old Gallagher house; he can hear loud conversations through the thin walls and the sounds of the street below are all familiar. But here, in his space everything is quiet - no one is having sex in the next bed, no one is banging around in the kitchen, no one is singing in the shower.

It helps. As one week goes by, then another, he can feel something inside letting go a little. It becomes easier to breathe, his rage calms down, his irritability dissipates a little. Even his nights devoid of dreams become easier to bear when he knows that he'll be able to wake up in the calm of his own apartment. With extra shifts and the youth centre and his EMT-I training, he often blacks out as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

Living on his own, without the constant drama of the Gallagher house, without needing to negotiate for bathroom, kitchen, space - it makes it easier to maintain control. Ian falls into a sort of routine; wake up, take his meds, run, go to work, drop by the centre if he has time, go home, go to sleep. The order switches if he has a night shift or a class, but the constants remain. 

"You know I finally start to believe you once wanted to be in the army" says Trevor one evening. He's sitting on Ian's lumpy sofa, a bunch of magazines in his lap, while the redhead puts together some sandwiches. It's rare evening that sees them like - they spend most of their time together at the centre or going out. 

"You place" Trevor elaborates when he sees Ian's uncomprehending glance "Military order to everything"

Ian looks around, sees the made-up bed, the carefully lined up boots on the shoe rack, a precise order of pots on the kitchen shelf. He vacuums every other day and cleans the bathroom on weekends. Even his wardrobe is well-organized.

Ian likes it that way - everything's tidy in its own little place. It gives him a sense of... accomplishment. For the first time since that late evening in February, when Ian saw a police car in front of the house, he feels like he's in full control of his life. 

"That's because there is no one around to mess up with my things" Ian brings the plate with sandwiches to the sofa, flops down next to Trevor

"Come on, man, your family is great!" Trevor shoots him one of his slightly patronizing glances. Ian knows that Trevor thinks he’s over dramatic when it comes to Gallaghers. Ian should be grateful that his boyfriend so obviously likes his family, but he can't help a stab of irritation that always shoots through him in moments like that. Because Trevor doesn't get it, doesn't get what a lifetime of clinging to each other in order to survive does to a family; how it feels to live so close to five other people; how it makes love and resentment tie deep inside you to the point where you can barely separate them.  For Trevor Gallaghers are accepting and that's the only thing that truly matters in his mind. Ian's learned to keep silent in these moments, to let it go lest it starts a conflict. 

"It's just good to have my own space, man" He leans back, throws his arms over the back of the coach. 

"I know. I don't think I've ever seen you as happy as you’ve been in the last few weeks" Trevor smiles and turns back to his documents. 

Ian stares at the brunette's back, at the dark hair curling at the base of his neck, at his hunched shoulders. They are sitting close to each other and Ian just needs to reach out, to shift a little and he'll be able to bury his nose in Trevor's neck, to touch his skin.  He doesn't; can't really explain what is there, in his boyfriend’s words, that grates on his nerves so much. 

"Yeah. I am" Ian's tilts his head hack and closes his eyes. 

  

***

Ian can't say it's Trevor's words that guilt trip him into visiting the rest of the Gallaghers. But it's been more than three weeks since he moved out and he's yet to deliver on his promise to Fiona. So, one Saturday afternoon, after his shift finishes on time for once, he spontaneously takes a familiar route home. 

It ends up being a stupid idea because nobody's in and Ian doesn't have his own set of keys. He contemplates his options - he can drop by the centre for a couple of hours and then come back later. Or he can walk to Patsies in case Fiona and Carl are there. Or he can just wait here on a porch and relax in the soft light of late summer sun. He looks down the familiar street where he spent most of his life; dead's guy house that was bought by Jimmy and then passed onto Tony and then went through two or three other owners. And next to it Kev's and Veronica's house. Ian feels another stab of guilt. It's been truly ages since he has spent some time with his friends. Alibi's not his typical hang out place these days - even with the hipster crowd it's not the kind of a bar he would go to with Trevor. And there's been very few Gallagher-Balls get togethers in the last year, that with life being busy and the  thrupple, and Fiona's feud with Vi and all the shit that went down with Svetlana... Ian would be lying if he said that the pure awkwardness of the situation wasn't another reason for him to stay away. 

On impulse Ian gets up and strolls to the red house. He knocks on the door without much hope and is surprised when in a minute or two it opens, Kev in his old stripped bathrobe on the other side.

"Ian, man!" Kev's face splits into a huge smile "what are you doing here? You all right?"

"Yeah" There is something so incredibly honest about Kev's joy at seeing him, Ian can feel his own lips cracking into a smile "Wanted to drop by to see the family, but nobody's home" 

"Then come in! Come in! I'm watching the kids today. It's been ages, man!" Ian follows him inside, chuckles when he sees the familiar clutter of the living room, toys and old towels tapped to sharp furniture edges, baby clothes piled up on all surfaces. The only thing that looks out of place is a formal black suit hanging off the door.

"You want a beer?" Kev's yells from the kitchen

"Yeah" Ian's been cutting down on alcohol and cigs lately, but he can't imagine hanging out with Kev without a bottle of beer in his hand; it would like sacrilege to the old traditions. He follows the older man into the kitchen. 

"What's up with you, man? How does it feel to have your own place?" Kev's voice is muffled, his head buried in the fridge. He emerges just in time to hand Ian an ice-cold beer. 

"Thanks. It's been good" Ian unscrews the can and leans against the fridge ”I..."

He freezes mid-sentence as he takes in the tiny kitchen and its occupants.

 _"Of course"_ his brain supplies helpfully _"Kev's said he's watching the kids" ._

And here they are, Amy and Gemma, in their tall chairs, baby water cups in their hands. And next to them there is a blond kid with bright blue eyes. 

"I..." Ian tries to speak but there is something in his throat, something obstructing his air supply. Yevgeny turns to look at him and waves his little hands around. Ian feels his heart drop into his stomach. 

"I didn't know you still looked after Svetlana's kid" he manages to get out and cringes - at how raspy his voice sounds, at his choice of words. Kev doesn't seem to notice, though; an uncharacteristic cloud passes over the older man’s face. 

"We don't usually, but Svetlana's been paying us to look after him lately" his face tightens even further "And we can really use the money"

"Why?" Ian leans against the opposite wall so that he's looking straight at Kev and not at the kids "I thought you got the Alibi back?"

He remembers hearing it from Fiona; about how V called immigration on Svetlana, accused the Russian of blackmailing her into marriage; how Svetlana agreed to sign over the bar in exchange for freedom.

"Not the entire bar" Kev winces and Ian suspects there is a story behind it that he's never going to fully know "we got it split 50:50" 

"So" Ian frowns "You run the bar together again?" He can't imagine how well  _that_  works. 

"No, man! I can't stand the sight of her" Kev shakes his head ”We split the nights. Sunday to Wednesday are hers and Thursday to Saturday are ours. Plus, she gets the apartment upstairs"

"Well, I'm glad you got at least part of it back" 

"Yeah…" Kev throws his arms around suddenly.

"But, you know what?! Even though we get the bar for the weekend, we are still losing money" he starts pacing around the kitchen "And she seems to be doing fine! I don't know what her secret is, man. The place is always full and the alcohol she manages to get is great" 

It's difficult to see Kev's like that, down and upset. He seems to forget that the bar has never been very successful when he and V run it on their own. Ian loves the bear of a man, his wisdom, humour and kindness, but he's  _not_  a good businessman. But saying it out loud won't help. 

"It sucks" he says instead. They drink in silence for a while until it's broken by a loud laugh, followed by a string of happy toddler sounds. Ian doesn't have to look at the kids to know which one of them made it - it's astonishing how Yevgeny's voice is still recognizable to him even though the last time they interacted he was capable of no more than happy gurgles. Ian feels his windpipe closing off again and desperately searches for a new topic of conversation. 

"So, what's up with the suit?" He motions towards the living room

"Hmm? Oh, I got a side gig" Kevin flashes his teeth "Part-time driver for one of these fancy limousine companies" 

"Really?" Ian tries to imagine Kevin in a fancy suit picking up old reach folk at the airport; the thought makes him smile “You like it?”

"Pays pretty well, with real tips, man" Kev shrugs "Helps to cover what we are losing on the bar. Plus, it’s mostly daytime hours, so I get to spend some time with the girls” he smiles at his daughters, his gaze so impossibly gentle that Ian has to look away. 

“Anyway, enough about me, man!” Kev turns back to him “What have you been up to?”

Ian tells him about his apartment, about his work, about Trevor and youth centre. Kev’s a great listener thanks to the years of bartender practice and Ian finds himself relaxing as he talks. 

“Sounds like you are doing great, man!” He tilts a bottle towards the redhead before finishing it off. 

“Yeah, I am” Ian watches Kev as the older man fixes water cups for the kids in a few well-practiced moves.

“You don’t mind watching him?” Ian nods towards the blond toddler; wants to bite off his own tongue as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

“Nah... He’s a great kid, really easy to look after and the girls are used to him. Besides, doesn’t make any difference if I am looking after two or three kids, man” He turns around

“By the way, would you mind if I run to change quickly? I want to take them to the park soon and it’s the first time they’ve been quiet all morning”

“Sure” Ian hesitates momentarily, but what else can he say? “ _Don’t leave me alone, because I’m afraid of a small child”?_  He’s got some dignity left. 

“Thanks, man! Be back in five” Kev disappears upstairs. Ian turns around and fixes his gaze on the colourful schedule on the fridge. It’s full of baby related appointments and it must have been put together in January or something, because it’s still got Yev’s name in some of the squares.

 _“Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look”_ his brain whispers like a mantra. He turns back. 

Amy and Gemma are playing with each other, but Yevgeny’s staring right at him. And it’s not that Ian has not seen him since he moved out of Milkovich house, but... It’s never been like that, up close, where he can actually look at him. And the kid... Ian remembers this kid when he was barely a couple months old. He used to hold this kid in his arms and change his diapers and feed him from the bottle. He used to _love_ this kid and now he can’t stop his eyes roaming, trying to catch every little change, every tiny feature.

Yevgeny’s a beautiful kid. His colouring is all Svetlana, light hair and peach coloured skin. But his eyes are Mickey’s baby blues; his round chin and high forehead breathtakingly familiar too. 

“A car!” Yevgeny grins at him, bangs his cup with a truck on it against the table while Ian just stands there frozen. His head tells him that he needs to go, right now, but his legs refuse to cooperate. 

He’s staring so intently at the blond toddler that he almost misses the moment it happens. Amy - or is it Gemma? he can never tell them apart - throws a now empty cup at her sister, but she must have inherited her father’s strength, because it flies right over the dark curly head and smacks Yevgeny in the shoulder. Slowly the kid’s face scrunches in a confused sorrowful grimace that Ian remembers so well from when Liam was about the same age - as if he had just experienced the greatest injustice in this world and he can’t understand why. Blue eyes fill with tears and he looks on the verge of crying or throwing a tantrum or both. 

Ian’s move is pure instinct, a muscle memory rather than a rational thought. He crosses the distance between them and scoops the Yevgeny up. 

“Shh” he cradles him in a familiar move, one hand pressing the little head into his shoulder, another shielding his body. Yevgeny feels different in his arms than when he was a 6-months old baby; but holding him feels like the most natural thing in the world “Shh, don’t cry Yevy, it’s all right”

The endearment flies essily from his tongue. Yevgeny buries his face into Ian’s shoulder as the redhead sways him gently. He smells like all toddlers - like sweet baby powder and shampoo. But Ian can swear that he recognises his underlying smell as well, something unique, warm and cozy. He presses his nose into kid’s soft hair and inhales, again and again and again. 

“Shh” slowly he can feel the little body in his arms relaxing. The toddler lifts his face, eyes no longer teary, and stares at Ian curiously. This close, his eyes are impossibly blue and the last time Ian saw eyes like that they were teary too, squinting in the bright Texan sun. Only there was more pain in them, pain that Ian had caused, and betrayal and accusations and love. It hurts to look at Yevgeny now, see his clear trusting gaze, feel the way he's totally relaxed in what to him must be the stranger's arms. It hurts, but for the life of him Ian can’t look away, can't move, can't let Yevgeny go. Doesn't want to, never-ever-ever wants to. 

“Hey, everything’s ok?” Kev’s voice behind him startles the redhead. Quickly, as if his hands are burning, Ian puts the toddler back into his chair.

“Yeah. He just got upset for a moment” Ian looks around and discovers his beer on one of the countertops - he doesn’t remember setting it aside. 

Kev nods, gets another beer out of the fridge. He’s got shorts and a t-shirt on now, but he seems to be in no particular hurry to go out. And Ian... Ian  _can’t_  spend another moment here. Not with what happened 5 minutes ago, not with how close he came to crumbling.

“Look, I need to go” He downs his bottle, drops it into a bin “Thanks for the beer and... thanks” 

Kev looks at him strangely and Ian can just imagine what his face looks like, what his eyes are saying because the older man straightens out slowly. 

“You all right, man?” He looks between him and Yev, a frown on his face. And Kev might not be the brightest bulb on a tree, but he’s no idiot and he's perceptive. And he knows the entire damn story, or at least as much of it as anyone else. Ian can feel the understanding downing on his friend's face and he can’t be present for that. 

“Yeah, I’m good. I need to go see if the guys are home now. See you around” And because Kev’s still standing near the kitchen entrance he turns around and exits through the back door. 

There is less than a hundred steps from the Ball’s back yard to Gallagher’s door. It takes Ian 10 minutes to cover, each step feeling as he's dragging a ton on his feet.

 

***

When Lip drops by at his work a couple of days later, a part of Ian is afraid that his brother learned about what happened at Kev’s. But one look at Lip’s face tells him that it’s something completely different. 

They go out for lunch to their usual place and chat about Ian’s work while they wait for their order. 

“What’s up, man” Ian asks finally “You are glowing” 

It’s true - there is something in Lip’s face, in the way of his eyes shine that Ian has not seen for a long time. It's like the look he had during Ian's moving out party, only stronger.

“Fuck off” Lip smirks “I have some news that I wanted to share with you first. You know, because you have been...” He stops

“Anyway, you know how Youens, my old professor, died last month?” Ian does; remembers Lip being crashed about something at the time. Only later did Ian learn about Yoegns death in prison. 

“Yeah?” He doesn’t understand why Lip looks so happy about it now

“Well, I met his daughter during the funeral. She... hmm... she found out an old reference letter that professor wrote about me. I guess it touched her or something, but she ended up pulling some strings at Technology University of Chicago. I had my interview last week and they had one place still open on the engineering course this autumn. And I got that place”

“Man...” Ian stares at his elder brother who just got another chance with disbelief “Fuck! That’s amazing! Congratulations!” They hug awkwardly over the table and knock off a Coke, and Ian ends up with his elbow in the fries but none of it matters, because Lip’s going back to college. 

“Just need not to fuck it up this time”

“You won’t” Ian puts all the conviction he’s capable off into his voice “you can do it. You are a genius, it’s where you belong.” He recognises now, that look on Lip’s face, the look of a man who finds his place, who feels comfortable in his skin for the first time in forever. It’s been a year for Lip, must have felt like a lifetime, but he’s finally going back to where he belongs. 

They talk about logistics - how Lip’s going to save on dorms, because the campus is close to Southside. He’ll keep working at the bike shop during the weekends and will still help out at Patsies for a bit of extra cash. 

“Turning out to be a surprisingly good year” Lip says when they are done with their burgers “Everyone’s got a job, we haven’t lost any money - well, not our own. Even Frank hasn’t managed to screw us over yet. Can you believe it? A good fortune finally smiling down on Gallaghers?”

Ian stares at him in disbelief. Remembers the sting in his eyes as he stares at the car disappearing behind the cordon; remembers the pain in his arms as he digs out his mother grave. 

 _“Has it been a good year?”_  Ian wants to ask, " _Monica died, I lost Mickey, we are barely a family anymore”_

 _“_ Yeah” he says instead “It’s been a good year so far”.

 

***

“Mind if I stash my stuff here” Carl asks as soon as Ian opens the door. It’s 8 am on a Saturday and Ian’s just got off a night shift. 

“Sure” Ian lets him in “as long as it’s not a dead body” he puts on a T-shirt and goes to put a coffee machine on'

“It’s my military uniform. Cassidy cut everything, so I had to get new stuff”

“She what?” Ian frowns “Why?”

“She doesn’t want me to go” Carl shrugs as he flops down on the couch “She can’t stand the thought of us apart” he says matter-of-factly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world "You got something to eat? I had to leave before she wakes up this morning”

Ian makes them eggs and toast and they eat them perched on a tiny breakfast nook that separates the kitchenette from the rest of the apartment. 

“So, what's up with Cassidy?" Ian asks after ten minutes of Carl playing with his food dejectedly.

Carl tells him about his girlfriend, the fights, ultimatums, blackmail. Ian bites his tongue to keep himself from shouting, " _she's a crazy bitch"._

“I don’t want to drop out” Carl shrugs in the end “I like school. But I love Cassidy. So, I don’t know what to do”

“Don’t drop out, Carl” Ian says simply “you’ll regret it later”

He doesn't want that for Carl; a lifetime of regrets about what could have been.

"But what if Cassidy can't forgive me?" His baby brother eyes fill with defeat "I can't live without her"

" _It's not how it works"_  Ian's thinks " _You can live, you will live. Life doesn’t give a damn about how much you are missing someone"_

"I know it feels this way” he says instead, as gently as possible "But you can and you will. And if she loves you half as much as you love her, she'll understand"

Carl seems to contemplate it for a moment, his face sad. Ian let's him, gets up to clear away the plates. 

"Was Mickey ok with you enlisting?" Carl asks suddenly and Ian has to grip the edge of counter.

 _"No, please, not that"_  Ian begs the universe _"not again"_

There's been enough painful memories and ghosts in  the last weeks and Ian doesn't want to do that, would rather eat broken glass. But his baby brother needs his help and, save for running away, there is no way Ian can get out of this conversation.

"Not exactly" he busies himself with topping up their coffee "But it was different. We weren't really a couple at the time, he was married and..."

"So, he didn't try to stop you?" Carl presses and Ian has to squeeze his teeth.

"No, he... no" And God what Ian wouldn't have given for Mickey to stop him then; to come to him then, love him, claim him, never let him go. Realistically, he knows, that his bipolar would have struck anyway at one point, but a part of him can't help but blame his stint in the army for kick starting his illness.

"Doesn't it mean he didn't love you enough?"  Carl leans forward on the counter and Ian wants to look away from his shrewdly fixed gaze. 

"No!" Ian used to think like that for a long time, but he won't let anyone think it now "Sometimes things are not black and white. It was complicated"

Carl nods. He's good like that - he accepts that things are complicated, difficult to explain sometimes. But there is clearly still a question in his mind. Ian bites the inside of his cheek, forces the words out. 

"Look, if what you and Cassidy have is real, you can get over being apart. I mean Mickey and I got back together after I came back from the army."

"Yeah" Carl's posture relaxes a little and Ian turns back to the sink to finish washing up. The sound of the water soothes him. How long it's been since he said Mickey's name out loud?

"But if you were to do it again?" Carl continues after a while "What would you do?"

" _Please, please, stop" begs Ian "Don't do it to me"_

"I mean what hurt most - losing the army or losing Mickey?"

" _Which time?"_ His mind whispers _"After he almost killed Frank and I didn't see him for 5 months? Or after his dad found out about us? Or after the wedding? After bipolar? After Mexico? Which time do you want to know about?!"_

"It's different" He switches off the water; turns to face Carl "Mickey and I weren't right for each other anymore ( _we weren’t, we weren’t we weren’t!)._ It might not feel like that right now, but you and Cassidy - things happen. Your education, the school - that's forever, that's your chance in life" Carl lowers his gaze. Ian can see that he's getting to him. 

"Look, I couldn't help what happened with the army - not with my bipolar. But you got a choice. Cassidy will still be here after you come back"

He thinks it's probably the first time he ever lied openly to one of his younger siblings, but looking at how Carl's face clears and determination sets in his face - it helps. It's just... 

" _Please, fuck, no more"_

 

_***_

The universe doesn't listen. 

It's the last week of August and he just saw Carl off at the bus station and is heading back to meet Trevor when his phone rings. 

"Hello?" He doesn't recognize the number

"Ian? Hey, it's me!" His heart rate speeds up and his stomach does a double take.

"Hey Mandy" he swallows "Didn't recognize your number"

It's been ages since they last spoke. After that night at the hotel they did exchange messages for a while, but life got in its way and the last time Ian heard from her was a Merry Christmas message. 

"I got a new phone" she sounds good, cheerful and happy; a part of Ian that couldn't let go of the image of that beat-up girl at the centre, calms down.

"How've you..." 

"Listen, I'm..."

Mandy laughs and, God, it's good to hear it. 

"Listen, I'm in back in Chicago for a day" she says "you want to meet up?" 

They agree to meet at Patsies in an hour and Ian calls Trevor to cancel on their meeting. 

He gets to Patsies first, of course, takes a corner table and orders coffee. Stares out of the window, trying to calm down. His nerves are shot to death, for some reason, as if he's about to take a test or have a job interview instead of seeing an old friend. 

He almost manages to get his heart rate under control and then the front door opens and Mandy comes in - and it feels like someone hit him with a truck. She looks like sun and home and warmth and love all wrapped up in slender figure, blond hair and a short dress. Her face splits into a huge smile when she sees him.

"Ian!" She rushes over, throws her arms around him "Fuck, it's been forever!" she squeezes him with that strength that always surprised him, her long limbs managing to go all the way around his shoulders. 

And what Ian wants is to squeeze her back just as tightly, bury his face into her neck and just breath. Just be for a little while. But for some reason he can't make his arms move properly. Ends up patting his best friend on the back as if they just met yesterday.

Finally, Mandy let's go and they manage to sit down. Ian tries to make his throats work a couple of times. 

"You want to eat something?" He motions to a waitress - a new one, he hasn't seen her before "They have a great veggie burger"

"Ian!" Mandy looks at him in a fond but exasperated way like he has just made a stupid joke "I didn't come to Southside to eat a fucking  _veggie_  burger!" 

"Right" Ian smiles feeling awkward and out of his skin "Just checking"

Mandy dives into the menu and Ian uses a moment to observe her. She does look good, up close as well. Her hair is down, with side fringe fixed on top of her hair like she used to wear all the time. She's wearing a simple black dress and boots, that don't look out of place is Southside even though they are probably quite expensive. Her skin glows and she's so fucking beautiful it almost breaks Ian's heart. He wants to tell her that, but when he opens his mouth nothing comes out. 

They order pancakes and more coffee; only then Ian manages to get his lips to work. 

"How have you been? You said you are here for a visit?"

"Yeah! Did I tell you I moved to NewYork? I'm still there; got a place and all" 

"You still ... in escort?" Ian doesn't mean to come across like that, all judgmental. Mandy nods non-pulsed though. Ian always envied that Milkovich trait - a refusal to apologize for what they are. They can hide it, they can pretend, but once out - they will never apologize. 

"I got a couple of regulars in New York. That's why I moved primarily, to keep them. But they travel a lot so I have a lot of free time on my hands. Signed for a few classes at a local college?"

"Really?" Ian perks up "What kind of classes?"

"Art, business...A little bit of everything. I'm trying to find out what I like while I can afford it"

Their food arrives and Mandy continues talking, tells him all about her life and shared apartment, fancy parties and events she gets to go to, about trying to get her head around modern art and abandoning the course because she couldn't take the bullshit anymore. Ian listens, soaks up Mandy's voice and energy, her sharp sarcastic humour, familiar scent of her hair and the sight of her coy grin. 

She finishes off her portion and steals another pancake of his plate - Ian's been mostly playing with his food, not hungry in the least. 

"What about you? Everything's all right" She frowns a little, sensing his uneasiness. 

 _"No"_ Ian wants to shout _"Everything's not all right. My mom's dead, Mandy; I said goodbye to Mickey, forever this time; I'm dating a great guy for the wrong reasons, I have no idea what I'm doing with my life anymore and there is not a single person in this world I can talk to about it"_

He wants to say it; he wants to _talk_ about it with Mandy - one person in the world who he thinks can just take it in stride and understand exactly what's wrong. 

"Everything's great!" He smiles, hopes it comes out good "I'm still an EMT, training to be a paramedic; moved out recently" 

"Really?" Mandy's eyebrows shoot up and she grins "Come on, tell me more!"

Ian does, tells her about his new place, about his work. When he mentions Trevor, Mandy's eyebrows shot up again.

"Wait, you are dating a guy without a cock?" She frowns "How does that work? And what happened with the firefighter dude?"

"We broke up last summer. It’s just was not working out. And Trevor… it's good" Ian shrugs "He's still a dude, you know. And he's a great guy, does a lot of good"  

"Hmm" Mandy grins "well, you found out a perfect combination - someone who's definitely not into topping"

And Ian could correct her now, could tell her all about how strangely not sexually compatible he and Trevor are. He could tell her about Caleb too, about his cheating and how much it hurt. He could tell her about Monica, about his conflict with Fiona. He _wants_ to tell her about so many things, but he fucking can't. 

"Yeah, it's good" he says instead "we are good"

A shadow passes over her face and Ian knows he's hurting her by being so closed off and formal, but he _can't_. If he opens up just a little bit right now, he's going to burst, start screaming or crying and never-never stop. They sit in silence for a while, drinking coffee, but it's not comfortable in the way it used to be. Mandy looks out of the window, while Ian plays with the spoon in his coffee cup. 

"Terry's dead" she says suddenly 

"What?" Ian lifts his head shocked

"My fucking bastard of the father. He's dead" 

Terry's dead. That terrible, cruel, fucked up bastard dead. The man who caused him months and years of heartache, who abused and hurt two of the people he loves most in the world. He's fucking dead.

"Good" he says simply "I'm glad" 

"Me too" Mandy smiles and for one blessed moment everything's all right, everything's like it's supposed to be.

"Is it why you are here?"

"God, no!" Mandy shakes her head "It happened last month. I just came by to see the boys. Colin's out of the can and he and Iggy have been bugging me since forever to visit"

And there is an elephant in the room, big and ugly elephant that Ian doesn't want to touch. So, he stays silent and watches Mandy's eyes darken again. 

"You know about Mickey, right? That he escaped?" He should have known that she’s got more balls than him.

"Yeah... Yeah I know" he swallows "Police came to question me afterwards"

_"I went to the border with him, Mandy. I spent three days with him and then..."_

He can't; he can't so he stays silent and doesn't ask the question he should be asking. 

"You heard anything from him?" Mandy presses, her voice a little cold, and Ian wonders if she knows the truth or if she's just trying to get any kind of reaction from him.

"No" he swallows, makes himself ask "You?”

Mandy shakes her head and Ian feels unreasonable relief, followed quickly by a stab of fear. What does it _mean_? That Mickey's not back in prison or that he's ... 

"Well, you know Mickey" he says quickly "He always lands on his feet"

It's a _wrong_ thing to say and it’s a lie -  there have been so many times when Mickey didn’t; when his luck wasn’t best; when he failed. His tone is wrong as well - too flippant and disinterested, like he’s talking about an acquaintance, not his former lover. Mandy hears it and her expression hardens. For the first time since they met Ian sees something akin to anger directed at him in her eyes. 

"He's a Milkovich" She abruptly pushes the now empty cup of coffee aside. 

The conversation dwindles after that. Mandy asks about the Gallaghers and Ian shares some perfunctory details - tells her about Fiona's building and Debbie's baby, Carl's military school. He cringes inside at how detached he sounds; knows he's not actually sharing anything personal, anything that matters. 

In the end they ask for the bill, Ian insists on paying, but Mandy doesn't let him, so they split instead. 

"Want to walk with me? I'm going to the old dump" Mandy asks once as they stand up

"Ahh... I'm actually meeting my boyfriend here later" Ian lies

"Sure. Then I guess..." she moves in for a hug. It's almost painfully hard for a moment as if she is trying to imprint a memory of his body in her mind. And then abruptly she lets go.

"I'll see you when I see you" she looks at him one last time, her smile frozen wide across her face. He can swear there are tears in her eyes "Take care of yourself, Ian" 

Just as abruptly she turns around and leaves. Ian watches her go, hands fisted at his sides. It's not too late still. He can run after her, hug her close, apologize for... for everything - not keeping in touch, pushing her away, Mickey. But he  _can't_. Can't lose the control, can't let the wall crumble again.

He notices Sierra giving him a look and realizes he's been standing in the middle of the diner for good 10 minutes. He sneaks into the bathroom, which is thankfully empty; splashes some water on his face; stares at his own expression in the mirror. It's strange that he can look completely normal even though inside his mind and body feel like someone ripped them apart. 

" _Who are you_?" Ian in the mirror asks him " _Who are you_?" 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a strange chapter for me. Typically I plan what I'm going to write about in advance, but with this one, I only had a vague idea and things started coming to me as I was writing. I really like the end result, though I wonder if I managed to really get across Ian's state of mind in this chapter...
> 
> A couple of small notes. I think the writers butchered Svetlana's story in the last couple of seasons. The events of season 7 I sort of came to accept, but none of the season 8 nonsense happened. Svetlana did not turn the Alibi into strange Russian place (WTF?), there was no prison, dominance plot, etc. Kev and V managed to get 50% of the bar back and now they are managing it separately.  
> I had to put Lip back to college. I did enjoy his arc during the last season, but I miss the arrogant genius part of his character. Of course, alcohol damages people, but if Frank can maintain his intelligence after 30 years, so can Lip.  
> While Ian's and Carl scene was written for angst mostly, I do think it would have made sense for Carl to reach out to at least one of his siblings in this situation and I think it should have been Ian.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How do you fucking get someone out of your head?" he asks Jonathan that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this chapter for a long time, writing and re-writing for days. In the end I had to come to terms that I'm not going to get it to the point I'm happy with. I even debated not posting it, but it's an important milestone in Mickey's journey, so here it is...

_***_

_Mexico, early September_

Mickey doesn't plan to go to the party. But it's the end of the tourist season, and the locals throw them all over the beach. Miguel and a couple of village lads drive down to Puerto Valarta for the night.

"Come on, Mickey! It's end of the summer party!" Miguel tries to convince him to come

"What end of the summer?" Mickey grumbles "Its hotter than on a fucking L in August"

But it's close to Mickey's place, he's bored out of his mind and hasn't gotten laid in a while so he drags along. The guys disperse across the dance floor in five minutes, but Mickey steers away from the crowd. 

The guy - a tall young Mexican -  approaches Mickey as soon as he hits the bar. He's seen him around somewhere, maybe he waits tables at some bar they sell tequila to or works at one of the nearby shops. The guy's face is nothing to talk about, but he's got a killer body and a dazzling smile and he moves with smooth cat-like grace. The moment their eyes meet there's no doubt about what they want from each other. The guy keeps talking about the color of Mickey's eyes and laughs loudly at his jokes in broken Spanish - and Mickey would typically take offense at this Latino passion nonsense, but suddenly he doesn't give a damn. His companion is hot, the night is bright and the alcohol flows easily.

The next morning Mickey wakes up groggily, but in a good way. His entire body feels as if it has been wrought with pleasure - limbs liquid, a pleasant stretch in his muscles, back burning slightly where the skin's been scratched by eager lover's nails, throat dry from moaning. His mind is pleasantly numb and relaxed - like after a really great sex. 

He rolls over and sits on the bed reaching out for a pack of cigarettes. 

"Buenos dias" a hand comes around his waist and a moment later Mickey feels a touch of lips on his shoulder. 

He shoots up from the bed as if he's been burned and walks to the open window. The ocean is impossibly blue, calm this morning, barely a wave in sight. He stares at it for several moments.

"Que pasa?" Paolo asks. The guy's name is Paolo, Mickey remembers and hates himself for it. 

"Get out" he grits through closed teeth

"Que?" He hears rusting behind him and turns around to see the guy now lying in the middle of the bed, long limbs spread invitingly.

"Get out"

Paolo's expression changes from relaxed to lost and he slowly sits up

"Porque? I thought it was great" there is such confusion in his voice that Mickey cringes. 

It  _was_  great, that's the fucking problem! They spend most of the night fucking. Started with quick handjobs behind the bar and then Mickey didn't feel like stopping so he brought the guy to his place and they continued for a few rounds.  

And now Mickey is standing here, in a place he dreamed off, after a great night, with another person in his own bed and... it feels  _wrong_. It's not the fucking - God knows he's done plenty of it in in the last several months. It's that Mickey was so into it that he brought the guy to his place, allowed him to spend the night. It's that falling asleep yesterday he thought that it would be great to repeat it. 

It feels like betrayal, like sacrilege, like a spoiled dream. And Mickey is so fucking angry, only he has no idea who his anger directed at - himself, Ian, the poor confused guy or the fucking karma. 

He doesn't say anything, just stares the guy down until he gets the point. And kudos to him -  he's not a pussy about it. He just gets dressed and gets out silently, while Mickey stands there, unmoving. 

_Fucking memories of a dream._

 

***

He stays angry for days afterwards. He goes back to the village, tries to keep busy. But it feels like there is something horrible crawling under his skin, like his nerves are stretched thin. He keeps snapping at Hector, at factory workers, Miguel, at the clients... He gets in a stupid fight with one of the Chaves brothers at the bar and Antonio has to drag him away before he can break somebody’s limb.

"Are you all right, Mickey?" Regina asks gently over breakfast the next day.

"I'm fucking fine" he snaps back and feels bad because she's not the kind of woman you snap at. 

He drives back to the coast before lunch.

 

***

"How do you fucking get someone out of your head?" he asks Jonathan that evening. They are sitting on Mickey's deck sharing a bottle of tequila, watching the sun setting down in the ocean. It's not exactly a tradition for Jonathan to stop by, but it does happen every once in a while. Ever since that evening in the bar he kept bumping into the man with the watch and a stack of notes. And he kept joining him for a drink, which inevitably led to talking. And at some point, Mickey decided that if he was going to talk about some bullshit he could just as well do it while enjoying a nice view instead of staring at the bleak bar. Besides, he’s got the best tequila in the world in unlimited supply. 

"Why do you want to get someone out of your head?” Jonathan got a pile of small pebbles in front of him. Every time Mickey pours a shot he throws one out on the beach.

“Fucking guess” Grumbles Mickey “You are the one claiming to be a fucking shrink”

“I’m not claiming anything” Jonathan plays with one of the pebbles. His halfway to well drunk already "I'm indeed a doctor of psychiatry, University of Edinburgh"

This throws Mickey - Jonathan has never disclosed much about himself.

"Where the fuck is that?"

"Scotland. United Kingdom. A very beautiful place"

"You don't sound British" Mickey eyes him suspiciously; lights a cigarette

"That's because I'm Australian. And I lived in California for 15 years"

It happens here - he meets people from all over the world; cosmopolitan, that's the word that Elisa once discovered and bugged him about for ages until he had to fucking look up its meaning. For Mickey, who has lived all his life within 10 blocks of one Chicago neighbourhood, it's almost incomprehensible. 

"How the fuck did you end up here then?!" He can't help asking 

Jonathan let's out a laugh, short and bitter, head thrown back. 

"Do you really want to start talking about what brought us here?"

Mickey shrugs, because fair enough, he told fuck all about himself too. He pours another shot. Jonathan picks up a pebble and starts playing with it. 

"So back to the original question - why do you want to get someone out of your head?"

 

***

He doesn't tell Jonathan all of it, of course, not in so many details. 

He stays silent for a long time staring out at the water that's turning golden under the setting sun. The older man waits patiently, playing with a pebble, even though his glass is still half full.

"Before I came here" Mickey says finally "I dreamed of doing it with one person" 

Just admitting it out loud feels somehow monumental. 

"It didn't work out?" Asks Jonathan when it becomes clear Mickey's not going to continue. 

"No, I'm fucking hiding him under the bed!" He sighs "It didn't work out, no"

He contemplates for a second if he's going too far - save for Miguel he's never fucking talked about Ian with anyone. But Jonathan, that bastard, is staring at him with his special expression, like there's nothing more fascinating to him than hearing Mickey's story. It makes it difficult not to continue. And once he starts it's like he can't stop.

"We... we used to be together. On and off for a long time" he grips his glass "Mostly off because of me. I was so fucking scared of my dad that...Doesn't matter now" he shakes his head because he's not going _there_. 

"Point is the things suddenly seemed to be working out, even fucked up things" he thinks back to Ian holding Yevgeny in his arms tenderly; remembers wondering how one of the most terrible experiences of his entire life could have resulted in something so beautiful. 

"And then shit happened and he broke up with me and I had to go away" it sounds banal when he puts it like that

"But you still... dreamed?" Jonathan asks almost gently and Mickey scowls

"Wasn't much else to do" he admits "Kept me going. I had this nice little dream of us moving to the beach, sandals, tequila, all this shit" 

"Our brain does it" agrees Jonathan "People fix on dreams in order to survive"

"Well, the problem is the fucking reality doesn't measure up" Mickey retorts angrily and fixes his gaze on the ocean. 

"It rarely does, yes" Jonathan confirms wistfully. 

The sun has almost disappeared behind the horizon. It looks like an end shot of a Hollywood movie. Mickey let's out a bitter, angry laugh. 

"Doesn't matter now, anyway. He's not  _her_ e" 

 “But you want him to be?” Jonathan presses

“No… Yes… “Mickey swallows “I don’t know… He… he didn’t want to be here so why should I?”

Jonathan accepts it, doesn't press further. They drink silently for until the last bit of light disappears from the horizon. 

 

***

"I just don't fucking get it" Mickey says the next evening. Mickey didn't plan to start talking. Thought he was done and done with it. But they are only through a third of the bottle and something inside him is just not letting go. 

"This" he motions towards his own head "what you studied, brain" Jonathan listens attentively as of it all makes sense and is not just drunk rambling.

"He cheated on me, treated me like garbage when all I did was try and help him, thrown my words into my face, never once came to... haven't contacted me for 16 months, left me at the border with a bunch of money and a shitty goodbye.

"And still... he's so deep under my skin I...” Belatedly he realizes that he's close tears and wipes at his eyes quickly. 

"Just why?" If he wasn’t so drunk, he’s sure he would have hated sounding so vulnerable. Jonathan shrugs.

"I don't know, Mickey. You feel what you feel. Sometimes it’s hard to let go of the relationship, even with terrible peopl”

"Fuck you!" Retorts Mickey angrily "You know shit about our relationship, about him” he doesn't know where it comes from, but his first response is still always to protect Ian no matter how angry he is. Jonathan remains non-pulsed.

"True. I only know what you told me. So why don't you tell me why he's not terrible"

Mickey stays silent for a long time, staring at ocean. Allows himself to think about Ian, freely, without suppression. 

"He's the kindest person I know" he starts "would do everything for people he loves, has done everything for his family even though they did not appreciate any of it"

"He's smart, always wanted to go places. Wanted to do good, to have a purpose, help others"

"He's fearless. First time we got together he jumped me with a crowbar to protect someone he cared about. He went against my bastard of the father without a single thought for himself" 

"He never gave up on us, on me, even when I was a closeted scared mess. Always pushed through, always demanded honesty"

"He loved my son as his own even though he hated how he came to be. Took care of him better than I ever could..."

He has to stop because his eyes sting and his throat's tight and he’s painfully close to bursting into tears. His anger leaves him and there is only sadness left. 

Jonathan doesn't say anything; just let's Mickey have his moment. They sit like that, silently, in the soft light of the dying day. The sun almost completely gone behind the horizon when Mickey speaks again. 

"What I told you about, the bad staff... it wasn't his fault. I mean, the border - it's his decision, I guess" 

"But the other stuff - he was sick, a lot of it he couldn't control" he motions again towards his head

"He had a mental illness?" Jonathan inclines his head

"Bipolar disorder" Mickey explains "You know?"

Something dark passes over Jonathan's face, his lips twisting in terrible ugly grimace. 

"Yeah, I guess I do know" he says quietly and reaches for the drink.

 

***

"My wife" says Jonathan

"The one you lost because you had an affair with the patient?" Jonathan laughs in this characteristic way of his, head thrown back, bitter short sound escaping his lungs.

"A nice euphemism - as you can see a physical and mental escape is my way of dealing with the grief" he picks up a pebble, plays with it a little before throwing it away "Reality is that my wife  _was_  the patient I had an affair with. And by lost I meant she died" 

He takes a big gulp of tequila "Which is another euphemism - she didn't die, she killed herself" 

Mickey doesn't say he's sorry - what would be the fucking point? Just tops up Jonathan glass. 

"Why did she do it?" He can't help asking. 

"She suffered from depression" says Jonathan and Mickey feels like someone kicked him in the gut "she was bipolar."

 

***

"You couldn't save her?" Mickey asks when they meet next time.

The thing is there is nothing in this world he hates more than bipolar. There is nothing in this world - not even Terry - that ever scared him most. And he tried denying it, then fighting it; he came close to accepting it. But none if it mattered in the end. And hearing now how someone... someone capable and trained... couldn't do anything either...

His companion shakes his head, deep grey eyes ringed with sadness. 

"You can't save people from themselves, Mickey. But tell me how you tried" and Mickey does. 

 

***

It strange how much he remembers that autumn - waking up in panic because he couldn't feel Ian next to him, trying to make sense of all the meds, thinking about hiding knives, belts, anything even remotely dangerous. Trying to learn about things he never knew existed. And fighting, and hoping and trying to do his best to get Ian through this alive and whole. 

And for a moment he thought ( _stupid, stupid, stupid!_ ) that they had a chance, that they were going to make it through. That day on the fucking field that defined so many moments in their relationship, he thought that he finally got it, what the secret was; that as long they fought together, stayed in each other's corner they'll be fine. As long as remembered that Ian is Ian even when he doesn’t behave like himself. And then the shit had really hit the fan - fucking Sammi, fucking military, fucking Monica - and nothing was all right.

He tries to explain it all to Jonathan, what it felt like standing in front of Gallaghers house, looking at the man he loved more than anything in this world and realising that he had fucking lost to a fucking decease. It's difficult, the words catching in his throat. The older man listens to him quietly, hand wrapped tightly around the glass as if it was a lifeline. He nods occasionally. 

"It sounds like you did everything you could" he says when Mickey stops talking 

"Fuck you!" Mickey explodes again, it feels like acid is going down his windpipe ”Fuck you! You of all people don't get to say this bullshit"

"Sorry" Jonathan shrugs apologetically "you are right, I should know better, I do. Truth is bipolar kicked your ass big time. But if you feel like you lost to the damn disease, I urge you to think again" Mickey stares at him sourly

"Is he dead? Homeless? In psych ward?" Mickey shakes his head

"He's doing great" he can't help a proud smile that forms on his face "an EMT, got his life sorted" 

"But it had nothing to do with me. He got there on his own while I was away. When I was there I kept screwing up" 

"Doesn't sound like screwing up to me" argues Jonathan and Mickey let's out a bitter laugh "What else could you have done?" 

"Get him to see the doctor early? Be smarter? Treat him like an adult? Don't get ... don't do stupid things so that I didn't have to leave him? Get my head out of my ass sooner so that...?"

"So that what? So, he doesn't get sick?" Asks Jonathan and his own voice trembles a little "After all the research you've done in sure you know the decease is genetic" Mickey tries to fight off the tears, nods, once, twice. 

"I’m sure there were things you could have done better. But you kept him alive, Mickey. That's more than I could say" Mickey looks away, bites his lip to keep himself from crying. The older man's words feel like a knife, driving straight into his sternum again and again.

 

***

"So, you didn't care about his bipolar when you offered him to go with you?" Asks Jonathan later. They are almost done with bottle.  

"Corse not" Mickey says "Maybe I should have. He managed to sort out his life while I was... away. Got a career, a boyfriend, stabilised his meds. He didn't want to abandon it all, I get it"

"Does  _that_  make you angry?" Jonathan asks "Him getting a life while you were ... away?" 

"No" this time he's sure in the answer "He deserved it. After everything's he's been through ... he's always been smart, always wanted to achieve something. He deserved to get his life in order" he stares out on the water "it's just..."

"I just wish it wasn't so easy for him to forget me" it hurts to say the words and he downs the rest of his glass quickly to wash the bitter taste down. Jonathan picks up another pebble obligingly, there is only two left on a table. 

"How do you know he did? Because he left you at the border?" 

"No" Mickey sighs "This I could understand, even though..." 

The thing is... the thing is that from the start Ian defined all his expectations. He wasn't supposed to show up, wasn't supposed to still want him just as fucking much as before, wasn't supposed to get in the car... And then he did and the fantasy suddenly started becoming reality. And that's what hurts the most, because it feels like just another abandonment in a never ending series.

"No, before that. When he broke up with me and never even thought about me"

Jonathan stays silent for a long time, sipping his drink. 

"Mickey, I know it's difficult to understand, but sometimes a person going through depression can think that it's best to cut their loses. That the fewer people care about them, the less people they are going to hurt"

Mickey turns the idea around in his head, the thought that it wasn’t his fault that Ian decided to end things. He wants to believe, he does. But he’s not stupid enough to ignore the reality.

"And after that? After he got better?" Mickey hates how small his voice sounds. Jonathan shrugs 

"I don't know. Maybe he wanted to, but got scared; maybe he didn't know what to say to you? Maybe he didn’t think he was better?"

"Truth is the only person who knows the answers is him. And even he might not know it. But the only way for you to find out is to ask him."

"Well that ain't going to fucking happen" Mickey retorts angrily. 

"Does he know where you are?"

Mickey shakes his head, feels a stab of guilt. He's not even let Ian know that he was safe. He still owes Ian money - the redhead has given him his entire savings. And a small, vindictive part of him thinks that he doesn't owe Ian anything, but a much bigger part knows it's not true. 

 

***

Jonathan must be able to read the indecision and doubts off his face; he sighs and leans back in his chair. 

"Do you remember you asked me how I ended up here?" he asks suddenly and Mickey nods 

"My wife loved this place" he continues "Pacific coast, the only place she was ever truly happy. That's how I ended up here after I lost her" He picks up a pebble of the table - there is only one left "After she died" he corrects himself "Do you know what it means?" 

"That you are the worst person to talk to about getting someone out of your head?" Mickey pours his last shot and empties out the bottle in his own glass. 

"That too" Jonathan lips twitch slightly, but there is something incredibly sad in his expression "But it also means that you can't get someone out of you head until you decide that you want  _to_ " 

"What do you _want_ , Mickey? Because you can try being angry with him, you can try forgetting him, you can even try hating him. But what do you really want?" 

 

***

And that's the problem, Mickey realizes, because the one thing he wants he can't fucking have. The only thing he truly wants is Ian here, with him, every morning of every day. And he's never going to have it. And he can continue to try and be angry, that it shouldn't matter, but he doesn't want to. 

 

***

Next day Mickey gives up and drives back to the village. 

It's not a very busy night, but Mickey stirs away from the bar, finds himself sitting at the back of terrace with a bottle of tequila and a pack of cigarettes. That's how Regina finds him a couple of hours later. Mickey feels rather than hears her presence. He glances back, sees her leaning against the door; she's careful like that, knows he doesn't like being approached from behind. He turns back to stare at the darkness, Regina walks slowly to join him at the table. 

"Sorry" he says in a minute or two; doesn't explain what for, but he doesn't need to. 

"I'm sorry too" and there is nothing whatsoever that she needs to apologise for, but he appreciates it just the same. They both sit in darkness, with only a weak light of the lamp above then and the monotonous whirl of the fan. Mickey closes his eyes. 

"Before I came here, I dreamed about it for a long time, about coming here with another person" he feels his eyes water, bites his lip to keep the emotions in "And now I'm here and he's not and sometimes I miss him" 

His glass clanks against the table when he lets it go abruptly. He presses the tips of his fingers into his eye sockets, but he can't stop his tears; they just keep coming and coming like a tidal wave. Regina doesn't say a word, doesn't comment on his tears or silence. Only when he calms down a little, does she speak in quiet gentle voice.

"You must have loved this person very much" 

"I did" he swallows "I do. He's the only person, the only thing I ever loved in my entire life. He was my family" 

Slowly Regina reaches out and takes his hands in both of hers. 

"I'm sorry that he couldn't come with you" and there is something incredibly kind in her assumption of _couldn't._  

"Me too" he shrugs; Regina's fingers on his arm feel like points of pure heat. 

 "I don't know how to stop loving him" he admits "Sometimes I'm not sure that I can" 

"Then don't" says Regina "don't stop loving him" 

Mickey glances at her.

"Are you a worse person for loving him?" Asks Regina "Has  _loving_  him made you unhappy?" 

And the answer is no, not in a million years. Ian, the parts of him that live Ian are the best parts, the only parts that matter. Everything that he's capable of now, sitting down with another human being and opening up his fucking heart, it's because of Ian. And loving Ian made him so many things - afraid, angry, lost, desperate - but, fuck, it has never made him unhappy. Regina must be able to read his expression.

"Then why try and stop loving him?"

It takes Mickey awhile to make his jaw work, to force the words out of his mouth. 

"Ian" he swallows "His name is Ian" 

"It's a beautiful name" says Regina gently and he doesn't realise his's been gripping her hand until her words make him relax. 

"You should be happy, Mickey" She says softly "you should be free. But don't fight your own heart, let it heal" She squeezes her fingers one more time before leaving. 

Mickey stays outside on the terrace. And it's like something inside him just let's go. 

He thinks about Ian, of all those small tiny, insignificant things that make up the Ian in his mind. All those things that since the first day, now, always make his heart clench painfully.

 _Ian_ \- bright red of his hair, the light dust of freckles on his shoulders, a shy half smile, big strong hands.

 _Ian_ \- fearless nature, stubborn jaw, a sense of purpose, tenderness and affection.

 _Ian_ \- bodies moving together in perfect sync, desperate moans, breaths mingling.

He opens his mouth, closes it again. He can't actually say it, not like that, speaking with air, gay shit. But he can think the words into the night: 

" _I love you. I probably always will. I miss you. I hope you are safe"_

 

***

Next weekend he drives towards the border to meet with his brothers. As usual he waits forever because he changes the meet up location every time and these two can get lost anywhere that's not an interstate highway.

By now they've fallen into a pattern - meet up, share a pack of cigarettes as a couple of local lads transfer the boxes; drive to the distribution centre to fill in any empty space with beer, have lunch.

Milkovich brothers sitting down for lunch together every couple of weeks feels as bizarre as it sounds. Thankfully the amount of bickering and the topics of conversation - beer, tits, beer, pussies, beer, computer games, beer -  add a bit of realism to what's happening. Sometimes, they are in and out quickly, sometimes they linger to drink and chat and  stay the night in one of the roadside motels. Today is one of these times. They settle down in a dark dirty bar, where waitresses in skimpy clothes serve cheap beer. Iggy enjoyed drinking, Colin enjoys Mexican girls and Mickey enjoyes the fact that he doesn't have to pretend to be into the entire scene. He listens while his brothers are telling him about Mandy's visit. For a moment Mickey feels a different kind of longing, softer, less desperate - Mandy used to be the only one of his siblings he actually liked and got along with. And, fuck, it would have been nice to... see her, hug her, joke around. Still, it's good to know that she's safe, happy and secure. They drink late into the night, to Mandy, to freedom, to fucking life. 

Next morning Mickey motions Iggy aside; takes out a thick envelope and silently passes it to his brother. Iggy's typical lost look turns extra confused when he sees the name on the front. 

"I'm returning a debt" explains Mickey "Just don't do it at the Gallaghers house, ok? In case they don't know he helped me out and give him shit about it" 

His brother stares at him funnily and Mickey schools his features into an annoyed expression. 

"Want me to tell...?" Mickey cuts him off because there is something horrible crawling up his throat threatening to chase away all peace and resolutions that he has made. 

"No! No, just... just do it. Don't fucking say anything, don't tell me how it went" he swallows "Just fucking do it" 

"Ok" says Iggy simply and maybe Mickey has never appreciated him more. 

 

***

On the way back Mickey stops at one of his favourite beaches and swims for hours in the light of the setting sun. By the time he arrives at Puerto Vallarta it's almost 1 am, he's tired from the road, dirty and covered in salt, but he doesn't give a shit. He falls into his bed and sleeps for hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were two things that I wanted to land with this chapter, not very successfully, unfortunate.  
> First, get Mickey to work though some of the shit he went through during Ian's illness, without making him come across as too OOC (hence a therapist who is not a proper therapist). Second, I wanted to show that while Ian is closing off his feelings and tries to hid from his pain, Mickey forces himself to open up and seek support from the people around him and, ultimately, accepts that his love for Ian is always going to be there.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't have anything to lose, he realizes suddenly. His job? He loves it, but he can probably live without it. Trevor? His apartment? He doesn't have anything he's afraid to lose anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to warn you, this chapter is taking Ian to some dark places. Potential triggers around violence.

Chapter 11

 

_Chicago, early September_

 ***

Music beats in Ian's ears loudly, his body swinging to the rhythm. The club's packed and every time Ian moves he can feel parts of his body brushing against Trevor, who's never more than a couple of inches away. It's hot and humid and Ian's head is pleasantly light thanks to a couple of shots. It’s the lightest he felt in the last couple of weeks.

"I'm going to grab a drink" Ian shouts into his boyfriend’s ear "the usual?" 

Trevor nods, eyes half closed, and continues to sway to the music. Ian weaves his way through the tangled mass of bodies towards the bar. It’s one of the fancier places they visit, not exactly Boystown, but close enough. The bar is all metal and glass and fancy lights; the alcohol prices reflect it. 

They go out often -  Trevor's is a social creature, he likes mingling with others, being surrounded by a crowd. Sometimes Ian longs for quiet nights in watching shitty movies over pizza, but most times he doesn't mind. 

Ian is just about to pay for the drinks and go find Trevor when he feels chirping in his pocket – a text from Fiona.

" _Are we still on for tonight?_ " Ian curses - he promised to stop by that evening and totally forgot. 

 _"Out with Trevor, will be there soon"_ he adds a couple of smile emojis to placate his sister.

He pockets the phone and joins the throes of people on the dance floor. 

 

***

They never planned to stay long anyway - Ian has an afternoon shift tomorrow and Trevor's got a couple days of sponsor meetings lined up. 

"Want to come over?" Trevor offers "I don't have my stuff with me"

"Nah" Ian shakes his head "Promised to stop by the Gallaghers" he leans to kiss his boyfriend as a reconciliation "I'll stop by the centre before the shift tomorrow"

"Ok" Trevor smiles lightly, presses his body closer suggestively. 

And Ian could turn it into something more passionate, could push Trevor into a quiet corner for a quick make out session, maybe get each other off discreetly. But he can't conjure up passion and excitement right now, much about anything, let alone Trevor. 

And it's all right. Everything that doesn't endanger his control, doesn't put his feelings into overdrive is good. Even now, after life stopped throwing past failures and regrets into his face every second, he feels too sensitive. So, he welcomes the calm, the stability, the boredom of these days. He hopes it will last. 

 

***

He's surprised to find the house quiet when he approaches. The weather's still warm, almost unnaturally so, and he would have expected to find his siblings sitting outside. The backyard is empty as well and there is no sound coming from the inside. A strange feeling of unease settles into Ian's stomach and he pushes the back door open. Fiona and Lip are sharing a pack of cigarettes over the kitchen table.  And the look on their faces tells him that he should have known better - for Gallaghers calm never lasts. 

 

***

Ian feels the uneasy feeling blossom into a ball of fire in his stomach. 

"What?" He closes the door and takes a step forward, a part of him still hoping that he walked on a really gloomy pity party. The way both Fiona and Lip avert their gaze tells him that, yeah, something is _really_ fucking wrong. 

And it's funny how a human brain works sometimes because his first thought is  _"It's Mickey"_ and he realises how ridiculous the idea is just in time to swallow the words. Because there is no way in hell his siblings would be that concerned if something happened to Mickey and, also, why would they know anything about it? 

"Carl?" Is his next thought, the one that gets out. Because Carl is reckless and has a violent past and he mentioned some kind of field training this weekend, which means roads and accidents and ... Unless, it's Liam and where the fuck is Liam...?

"Ian, it's Debbie. Debbie's hurt" says Fiona and it's the last thing he expects. 

Debbie has been... away is the wrong word. She's been on the side-line of his life, of all their lives, in the last year. Constantly moving in and out; rushing between taking care of Frannie, school and work. Always on the move. Ian can't remember the last time he had more than a five-minute conversation with Debbie; can't remember the last time he tried to. Guilt cuts through him like a knife. God, he barely acknowledged her moving back in, except being annoyed at additional source of noise and clutter.

"Ian?" Lip calls his name and he realises that he's been standing in the middle of the room like an idiot.

"Where is she? What happened?"

"St Louis hospital" Fiona nods "In west Chicago. Her leg is seriously hurt" 

"It happened on that fucking night job of hers" Lip says. He buts out one cigarette and immediately lights another. 

"What job?” Ian asks; grabs a beer of the table automatically.

"She found this job, welding at night, said it paid really well" Fiona explains "Apparently, they had to break all kind of safety rules, though" 

"I don't exactly know what happened, but a huge rod fell on her foot. She had to be taken to ER. They are keeping her in the hospital overnight"

"How bad is it?"  

“I don't know" Fiona shakes her head "They said that she had a concussion as well. She was too groggy to explain. They they can't tell me anything more detailed tonight, we'll have to go to the hospital tomorrow"

"Poor girl" she shakes her head, pulls her arms around herself "Do you want to stay over and go with us tomorrow morning?"

"Of course" Ian nods "Where is Franny?" He remembers suddenly

"With her grandma, thank God! She was spending the night anyway, I'll go pick her up after the hospital. Have no idea what we are going to do until Debbie gets better"

"We'll deal with it" Lip says confidently.

It's the first night in almost two months that Ian spends on his childhood bed. It should feel too small after his own double, but instead it feels too empty. He thinks about Debbie, about her red hair and cheeky smile, her stubbornness and strength. He thinks about the time they were close, as close as siblings with 4 years between them could get. A familiar, old prayer appears in his mind, a mantra he used to say as a kid every time another fucking Gallagher crisis arrived.

" _Please, please, please, I'll do anything. Let her be all right!"_

 

***

Debbie looks terrible when they pile up in her hospital room next morning. 

She's pale with pain, huge dark circles under her eyes, sweaty hair clinging to her clummy forehead. Her leg is held up by straps and covered in thick cast. She looks impossibly young and old at the same time. 

"Hey" Fiona smiles tenderly, gives her a tight hug before sitting on a side of the bed carefully "How are you?"

"You all right, Debs?" Lip pats her arm, crouches on her other side. Ian touches her healthy leg gently but remains standing. The place creeps him out even though he should be the one used to hospitals and doctors. It's different though, coming here for work and visiting someone. Last time he's been here in a non-work related situation was after Monica's suicide. 

"The doctor's going to be here soon. They haven't told me anything" his baby sister’s voice trembles 

"Whatever it is, we will deal with it!" Reassures her Fiona in that chippy fake-careless tone that Ian used to hate so much when he was in the hospital himself.

Right on cue the curtains open and a middle-aged woman in standard-issue hospital scrubs comes in.

"Good morning, Ms Gallagher" she turns around curiously at the company in the room. Fiona introduces herself first, then Lip and Ian. 

"How are you feeling?" She glances at the chart "how's your pain level?"

"It's fine" Debbie says quickly and strained, her clear tell when lying "When can I go home?" 

Fiona lays a calming hand on her shoulder. 

"I'm afraid we'll have to keep you here for a little longer, Ms Gallagher"

"What? Why?" Debbie sounds panicked, no doubt thinking about co-pay, about missing work and how she's going to feed herself and Franny.  

"It's all right, Debs, just let the doctor explain" Lip says quietly

"Thank you" The doctor pulls out a couple of scans ”You have a concussion from when you hit your head upon falling – we need to monitor it carefully. But the primary injury is your leg" She turns the scan around so they could see it "You have a triple break in you lower leg - here, here and here. Part of the foot is smashed and the bits of bone are loose, which can cause severe infection. In order to set the bones straight we'll need to operate"

"Well how long is it going to take?" Asks Fiona 

"Depends on surgeon availability, but 2 days of preparation for the operation and another 3-4 days of recovery. You will have to do some physical therapy after that. I will be honest with you, it's not going to be a quick recovery" 

"No, I can't afford it! I need to work, I need to look after Franny" She struggles to sit up properly with her leg up "Isn't there anything else you can do?" 

"Debbie" the doctors voice is soft and regretful " I'm afraid that if we don't do anything soon, you might never be able to walk properly or even lose your leg" 

Fiona gasps and Debbie lets out a whimper.

"Think about it, ok? Talk with your family, I'm sure they'll help you find a solution" she turns to Fiona "All medical expenses should be covered by Medicaid, but there might be some minor co-payment. Let me know if you have any questions and I'll have a surgeon on standby"

A silence sets over the cubicle once the doctor leaves.

"Oh my God" whispers Debbie "Oh my God" she turns to them frantically, all the traces of adult gone, just a scared little girl left. 

"I can't afford being here for a week! Fiona, I don't have any money to pay the rent and Franny..."She's begging and Ian feels his heart construct painfully. She's only 16, for fuck sake, what the hell were they thinking leaving her to fend for herself? Debbie, Carl, Liam - they should have had it easier than the elder Gallaghers... They should have benefited from having someone taking care of them.

"It's all right, Debs" Fiona's voice trembles and a small vindictive part of Ian is glad to see guilt on her face "We'll help you out"

"Yes, Debs" Lip picks up, but his lopsided smile does nothing to hide the tremor in his voice "You just rest and focus on getting better, ok?"

"What about Franny?" Debbie's eyes are filled with tears

"We'll take care of her, promise" Ian reaches out and finally grabs his sisters hand "We'll take care of everything" 

 

***

"What do you mean she's not on Medicaid?" Fiona's voice is shrill ”She's underage, low income, has a small child. Surely she qualifies!"

The elderly receptionist measures them up calmly and looks back at the screen.

"It says here in the system that she was granted access to Medicaid at December 17th last year, but it was revoked on February 1st this year"

"Shit" Ian hears Lip mutter under his breath. As usual it doesn't take long for his elder brother to figure out what's wrong. 

"Neil" Lip explains "He's got his own money from the lawsuit. It must be more than the Medicaid limit. Plus, Sierra lived there at the time - that's another income. Debbie would have been considered a part of the household" 

"Fuck" Fiona turns around "My sister's circumstances changed. She's now below poverty line and qualifies"

"That's all good, honey, but you'll have to sort it out with Medicaid. I can only see what's in the system" the receptionist says not unkindly, but with a tired expression of someone who's heard it thousand times before. She must have been here long before Obamacare and Medicaid and all the stuff before that. 

"How much is it going to cost without Medicaid?" Lip asks and receptionist dives back into the screen. Ian feels the dread settling in his stomach, fists his hands to keep them from trembling nervously. He knows the system and he knows how expensive it can be. Judging by the way Lip's foot taps on the floor and the nervous tick of Fiona's fingers against the counter, his siblings are well aware of it as well. 

It takes what feels like forever of typing and clicking before the receptionist prints and spreads a stack of papers in front of them.

"This includes the current stay, operation, post-ops care, leg brace and 5 therapy sessions. All together 46,520 USD"

 

***

That evening, following a eight-hour shift, Ian stumbles into Gallagher house and is hit with the immediate sense of deja vu. 

The action has moved from the kitchen to the living room and he's surprised to see Frank sitting in his favorite chair and sucking on a beer bottle. Fiona and Lip are on the sofa and one look at their faces tells him everything he needs to know about how productive their day was. 

"What's new?" Ian asks as he walks towards them; sneers at Frank and fights the urge to kick at his shins as he passes by. 

"I talked with Medicaid" Fiona shakes her head "The only thing Debbie can do at this point is to apply again. But it will take them 45 days to consider her application, which... is not helpful"

"Can't the hospital just use the fact that she applied and get reimbursement later?"

"No, apparently, Medicaid can't cover what happens while the application is considered"

Lip waves a stack of papers in the air.

"And we need to make the decision asap" he continues "preferably by tomorrow morning. They can't hold her for more than two days and if we decide not to operate..."

"They are going to send her home?" Asks Ian angrily. Fiona cringes and nods. 

"We can't do it. The risk of infection is too high. She'll be left a cripple either way"

"I just don't see what all the fuss is about" Frank drones in the background "So she loses her leg, gets a lifetime of disability, she's sorted for life!"

Ian feels his temper raising; opens his mouth to let the useless, pointless piece of shit that claims to be their father get a taste of it, but Fiona beats him. 

"Shut up, Frank" she retorts angrily "just shut up"

"Or better get out, altogether" adds Lip

The bastard tilts his head, but doesn't react in any other way.

"There is another thing" Fiona sighs "even if Deb's leg wasn't in such severe condition, we need to get her home asap. Franny's still with her grandma. She refused to hand her over to me this morning; said that if Debbie's not able to show up herself, she's unfit to be a mother and she's going to report her to the social services"

"That's bullshit!" Ian feels his heart dropping "they wouldn't take Franny away, just because Debbie's got in the accident. Come on, you know the courts, we always made it back into his care!" He motions towards Frank

"Yeah, because Monica has fucked off somewhere and it was that or foster family" Lip signs "Franny's other parent is a legal adult and can show that he's better suited to care for her, that with the legal support"

"Apparently Derek's been fighting for joint custody for a couple of months already" Fiona nods "He's in military now, just got married"

"Shit" Ian rubs at his face. Loosing Franny ... it's not an option. She's a Gallagher, she's theirs, she belongs with them. It doesn't matter how much Fiona was against the idea in the first place, he can see it just as clearly in her face now - Franny will be coming home no matter what. 

"Children!" Frank suddenly gets up "You are all missing the point!" He circles the room unsteadily.

"That's the best thing that's ever happened to her!" He stands in the middle of the room, arms wide spread, a patronizing smile on his face like he's some sort of a prophet. Ian snorts and turns away - he can't look at that... that shitty drama right now.

"Shit up, Frank" Lip repeats angrily, but the old bastard takes no notice

"She's going to get disability and have the costs of child rearing taken off her hands! A kid that you" he points his finger at Fiona and winks "Didn't even want. Free food, plenty of dope! She'll be rolling in money and all for what? Losing one limb she's not even using? And if you think she's not going to be attractive anymore, let me tell you, there are plenty of men out there who love a little freak in their..."

"Shut up!" Ian bolts from the table and whips around, his insides burning with pure rage and disgust. Frank must have seen something in his face, because he takes a step back, but it's too late. Ian lands a square punch to his jaw, then another in his sternum. He hears Lip and Fiona protests  behind him, but they don't really register. He just wants this dirty old piece of garbage out of his eyes, out of their home. 

"Ian, stop!" Lip's arms around his shoulder drag him back, when Ian almost has Frank by the back door. His father’s nose is bleeding and he clutches his midriff

"How dare you..." But Fiona's clearly had enough because she flings the back door open.

"Get out, Frank" 

The bastard murmurs something under his breath and slowly, unsteadily shuffles out of the house. Fiona slams the door in his face and Lip finally let's Ian go. The redhead still hear ringing in his ears; his blood is boiling and his breath is coming in rapid breaths. 

For a while the three of them just stand silently in the middle of the kitchen staring at each other. 

Slowly Fiona walks to one of the chairs and lowers down. She presses her palms against her face tiredly, rubs at her cheeks. 

"God!"  She threads her fingers through her hair "God"

 

***

"What about deferred payment" asks Lip. They are back at the kitchen table, smoking and sharing coffee "Medical bills can be paid in increments" 

"The hospital requires the full amount to be paid with 150 days. That's...

"310 dollars a day, 9,330 a month" Lip says "Anyone's making this type of money around here?"

"They said they can wave the cost by 20%" Ian picks up at that but Lip’s next words crush his hopes "if we can pay within 30 days" 

37 thousand is better than 50, but it might as well be millions - they don't have this kind of money. Ian's got four grand in savings, Lip's got three more. Most of what Fiona owns is tied in with the building, though, and Debbie herself has been living from salary to salary. 

"I talked with Trevor about charities. There is almost no chance. She's not a child anymore, it's not life threatening or PR worthy, she's been hurt while doing something semi-legit. It would take forever to find someone to cover it" 

His siblings nod, they are used to it, Gallagher luck, count only on himself.

"Do you know if Carl has any savings left?" Fiona asks cautiously. 

"From dealing?" Lip shakes his head "I'll text him to check, but I don't think so. If he had anything left it would have gone into tuition"

"We can't take money from Carl" Ian says resolutely "He already paid for the house"

 _"He's got a future ahead of him_ " he thinks

Fiona hugs her arms around herself tightly, her expression panicked. 

"Then it's just the three of us" Lip murmurs "Got to figure out how to get 40 grand before the end of the month"

"Fucking Gallaghers" Fiona lets out short bitter laugh

They've been here before, he's been here before, but it feels... different. It's not just their house or food on the table or electric bill; it's not trying to avoid social services. It's Debbie's life, her future - and hasn't she had enough? Haven't they all had enough?

 

***

Figuring out where to get 40 grand from is easier said than done.

The entire day feels like the old Gallagher crisis management; running around, trying to figure out the impossible, encountering obstacles wherever he goes, trying not to give up. 

Ian goes to see Trevor first thing in the morning. His boyfriend greets him with a sad understanding gaze.

"How are you?" He kisses him gently on a cheek and hugs him close. 

"I'm all right" Ian shrugs it off; it's not pity or compassion that he's looking for right now "Any news?"

"Sorry, no" Trevor shakes his head "I tried to reach out to a couple of places, but it's a lot of cash and they have a huge list of patients. Best case scenario, her case might be considered next month"

"Shit" Ian rubs his face and Trevor pats him on the shoulder 

"How's she doing?" 

"Scared shitless that she might lose her leg" he wasn't there when Fiona explained the situation to Debbie, but when he called her later the pain and devastation in his sister’s voice almost brought him to tears.

"Do you want me to talk with her?" Trevor asks gently and Ian frowns

"About?" 

"Potentially losing her leg, I don't have personal experience of course, but I can get her in touch with..."

Ian takes a step back from his boyfriend

"Debbie is not going to lose her leg" he says with as much conviction he can master

"Ian..." Trevor's voice grows even gentler and Ian never hated his quiet understanding more "I know you guys are doing everything in your power, but you need to think of this option too. People live without limbs, you know. They lead happy and fulfilled lives"

"On social benefits, without education and a daughter to raise?" Ian knows his voice is taking on a cruel mocking tone, but he can't believe what he's hearing. Trevor doesn't take to mocking lightly though and his expression turns hard.

"Then how are you going to get the money, Ian?"

"We'll think of something" Ian says stubbornly. It's a Gallagher's way after all - preserve and survive. A thought suddenly occurs to him.

"What about private sponsors? The guys that give money to the centre. We could call them, see if any of them would like to help out"

"We can't do that!" Trevor looks shocked

"Why not? It's a charity as well, isn't it? What's the difference?"

"The difference is that they are giving to the cause, not a person!" Trevor's face turns red "I can't start pestering them with individual requests!"

"What's the risk in asking?" Ian stares at him surprised, he didn't expect such a strong reaction

"Ian, I've been playing this game for a long time. Once you start asking sponsors for individual requests, you lose them. They stop trusting you, they start thinking you are a hassle. I've been there before and I can't risk it now! This entire centre depends on it" 

He steps closer to Ian, presses his hands against his cheeks 

"Do you understand why I can't do it" Ian nods dumbly, even though he doesn't, doesn't understand it at all.

"One way or the other it's going to be all right" 

Ian nods again, tags Trevor's hands away from his face.

"I know. Now excuse me, I need to go and find money to save my sister’s leg so that she can keep her child"

Trevor says something to his back, but he doesn't listen.

 

***

For the third time in as many days he comes home, angry, exhausted and discouraged. He's heard more "no", "hopeless, "sorry" today than he can count and he knows he's not alone. His siblings sitting around the table, but today more than ever he can see defeat in their shoulders, in Lip's tight jawline, the way Fiona's hands are crossed on the table. It hurts to see them like that. 

"I talked with Sue and Rita, a couple of other guys. I can scrape up another five grand. Worst case scenario I'll just take out a loan from the bank. Plus, my savings"

"Plus mine" Lip turns one of the hospital papers over and starts scribbling

"Plus mine - I got another 5 grand if I'm smart with expenses for the next couple of months" Fiona nods

"That's 15 grand, already, right? And..."

"And we are still almost twenty grand short" Ian says. They fall silent again. 

"I talked with a couple of guys" Lip starts "A hacker friend of mine. They can lend me the money" 

"How are you going to be able to give 20 grand back with interest rate? Doing college and five jobs at the same time?" 

Lip falls silent, mouth pressed tightly together. His hand starts tapping out a nervous tune on the table surface, fingers twitching around a non-existent glass. 

"I'll think about something" he says stubbornly and Ian knows that he will. He's smart and resourceful and he'll try running schemes and working hard and writing essays for stupid students; and Ian knows how it will all end - under stress, throwing back five drinks before lunch, running into trouble, dropping out. He shakes his head.

"Lip, no" Fiona says "You can't. You can't risk your second chance at college"

"There is another way" She continues and her words are hopeful but her voice is hollow "I called Margo"

"Who's Margo?" Ian asks 

"The owner of the dinner? My sort of mentor" Fiona waves her hands around "Anyway, she's willing to give me the entire 40k ... for50% of the building" 

"What?" Ian feels his hackles rising again "that's insane!"

"Beggars can't be choosers" murmurs Lip "if you are in business you are risking being eaten by sharks"

And it doesn't matter that two months ago Ian was accusing Fiona of turning into a capitalist bitch and forgetting her roots. Doesn't matter how angry or disappointed he is with her, how much he resents her business. That building is hers, she earned it, worked damn fucking hard for it. To see it crumble like that...

"No" it's his turn to object "Fiona, you can't!"

"What alternative do we have, hmm?" Her voice is touchy but he can see tears in her eyes "We need at least 15 grand by the end of the month, so unless you know a way to make a thousand a day I don't see another way out!"

Fire drains out of her, her shoulders slump and head drops. Ian looks between her and Lip, between their tense, defeated expressions. And... it's Debbie... it's his little sister lying in the hospital bed; it's Lip - his big genius brother who's risking the 2nd chance (maybe the last chance) at the future; it's Fiona - who raised them and loved them, who worked her ass of for a better life. It's his fucking family and he doesn't  _want_  them to lose it all...

He doesn't have anything to lose, he realizes suddenly. His job? He loves it, but he can probably live without it. Trevor? His apartment? He doesn't have anything he's afraid to lose. Nothing to sell either. Except...

His brain catches on the memory, then another one and another one. A web of words and actions that lead him to one single available solution...

"Give me a couple of weeks. I've got an idea"

 

***

Ian worries that it's just going to work, that he won't know what to do and say; but in the end, it appears that he doesn't have to do a single thing.

He spots the guy quickly - an elderly guy, about 55-60, well dressed, a predatory smile on his lips. He approaches Ian confidently like he knows he could buy him, like he played the game thousand times; Ian gathers he probably had. 

Naming his price feels strange and Ian has no idea whether to be relieved or disappointed when the guy accepts without lifting an eyebrow. The john doesn't argue, just pays for their drinks and starts walking towards the lift expecting Ian to follow, like a puppet. For a moment Ian wants to turn around and walk the other way, walk and walk. But he doesn't. Instead he gets in the lift with the guy (Ted, though surely, it's not his real name, just faceless, short and easy to remember pseudonym) and allows him to immediately pull him in the corner, maul his neck, while his hands (skin patchy, fragile, old) are palming his junk. He closes his eyes and his brain splits into two universes. In one he goes with Ted to the hotel room and allows him to undress him, gives him a blowjob, fucks him in different positions all over the room. In another, Ted doesn't even get a chance to take his pants off before Mickey appears out of nowhere and beat him up, no hesitation, a cruel satisfied smirk on his face. It is a ridiculous fantasy, in a way that even if Mickey was here and cared enough about Ian, beating the john up would have achieved nothing. But it helps him to get through what is happening and in the back of his mind he sees Mick's smile and a twinkle in his eyes and it makes everything so much easier. 

Afterwards he takes a long hot shower in the hotel bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror and tries to find the boy he knows he once was somewhere in this gaze. He thinks he can't, thinks the parts of this boy are probably scattered all over the country now - in the army compound, on the football field, in the back room of the Fairytail, on his porch, at the Mexican border, on his mother’s grave. The face looking back at him is not his and the scary part is he can't blame bipolar for any of this. 

He expects it to get easier after the first time, but it doesn't. In fact, it gets harder with every time. His skin crawls and he wants to vomit and when john number 5 offers him some meth, the crawling and the irony ( _fucking meth, fucking Monica_ ) gets to him and he accepts it easily.

It makes him feel good and then it makes him feel bad. But his next pick the night after is a top, a dominant one and he enjoys throwing Ian around the room and insists on fucking him doggy style without much of a prep and Ian admits to himself that he hates bottoming. By that point the fantasy with Mickey in it kind of stops appearing and Ian's glad. He's not sure he's up for Mickey, even an imaginary one, witnessing him getting it from behind. But he's also sad because it makes it all feel so much more real. So, after that night he actually stops by the corner and buys a little PCP, just to relax, just a little. 

 

***

He fucks 15 guys in just over two weeks and makes 10 grand. He gives them to Fiona, claims he made them through blackmailing a couple of old clients. Gallaghers except it easily, make jokes, their spirit picks up. It hurts and he can't even conjure enough enthusiasm at their relief and happiness. He can't conjure up much of anything he thinks. He needs to go back for more, but he promised Rita to catch up on his shifts and he needs to spend some time with Trevor, who he had barely seen; and he wants a fucking break. 

 

***

The last person he expects to see waiting for him after he comes back from his shift the next day is Iggy Milkovich. He doesn't say a word, just hands over a small package and throws a sneering disgusted look his way before turning away and leaving. 

Ian's too shocked to do anything about it, just stares after him for long minutes. It's late at night, the shift is over and the locker room is empty. Ian sits on the bench and unwraps the package slowly. And deep inside he should have expected it, the tightly packed stack of notes falling into his lap. There is nothing else inside except a simple note that says "Thank you". Ian stares at it for a long time, traces the loops of the familiar sloppy handwriting with his fingers, wonders why two simple words are making him feel like his heart is fucking breaking into a million tiny pieces. 

And then he locks himself in the bathroom stall, turns on the water and slides down on the cold floor right in his uniform and weeps and weeps and weeps.

He never realised before now that the money he gave Mickey were the _last_ connection between them. That, stupidly and irrationally, while Mickey had the money, a part of Ian was _with him_ , helping him, watching over him. And now the ties are cut. There is nothing in this world connecting him with Mickey any more.

 

***

He gives the money to Fiona and burns his "hotel" clothes. He spends a couple of days in a daze and even stops by Milkovich house to talk to Iggy and ask him where the money comes from. "From Mickey" is the expected answer. He ignores all follow up questions like "is he all right?", "where is he?". Iggy looks at him like he is crazy (he must look crazy at this point) and flips him off. Ian doesn't remember anything much for the next day. 

It takes him another 2 days before he scopes enough courage to go to his doctor and admit he's been taking drugs and his schedule is all screwed up. The doctor nods and leads him through the evaluation. Ian thinks he might be going into manic phase, but the results place him on the depressed end of the spectrum and his doctor add antidepressants to his schedule. 

He hates himself, hates Monica, hates life. He's so full of hate and so tired he can barely cope. But he thinks about the fact that he gave Mickey up for this life and he better make sure he makes the most out of it. He thinks he already knows he is destined for failure. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit ambivalent about this chapter - the story has been on my mind since I started writing, but I'm not sure I managed to properly integrate it in the narrative. It was first written in one of the later chapters as a flashback and the circumstances were different - I wanted to connect it with the meth story. But then season 8 aired and I liked "digging out Monica's body" story, so I shifted gears and went with health issues. At first, it was supposed to be Liam, then Lip (the timeline did not quite work with him starting college) and finally I decided to revise Debbie's story from canon. 
> 
> A couple of small points:  
> I tried to do my best with the American healthcare system. As far as I understood, Medicaid would have covered an operation like that, so I had to work around it - still not sure it makes sense.  
> It really bugs me that Gallaghers don't seem to have any money problems anymore... In my version of the world, they are not struggling so much anymore, but they don't have a lot of extra cash on their hands either.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The funny thing is Mickey doesn’t notice when it changes.

 

_Mexico, late October._

***

The funny thing is Mickey doesn’t notice when it changes. 

But slowly his gun moves from under his pillow to the nightstand table and then to the bottom of the wardrobe. He stops jumping up in the air when someone approaches him from behind. Most nights he falls asleep sprawled like a star fish across his double bed and doesn't dream of blood on his knuckles, the feel of human flesh under his fists, the clacking of prison doors. And most mornings he wakes up and feels like he's actually living. 

Of course, the moment he realizes that, it all has to crash...

 

***

"Lana says that she needs 30 more boxes of the Gold label" Colin's voice booms in his ears. He always talks too loudly on the phone.

"Well, then the bitch can come and get them herself" Mickey sneers, eyes squinting in the sun. He can never come to terms with how hot it still is, even in fucking October. He's sitting on the terrace of his shack, in shade and he's still sweating like a pig. 

"Hmmm?" Colin mumbles over the phone and Mickey takes pity on him. Ironically, out of two brothers it's Colin who seems to be most scared by Svetlana.  Either living together at some point has made Iggy immune to her threats or he's too stupid to be afraid. 

"Relax! I already made a deal with the distributors. 30 boxes are waiting for you to pick up on Thursday. How are the new drivers?"

"They are good. One of the Carmella's brothers would like to get involved"

"How many fucking brothers does she have?" Mickey exclaims

"Five? Plus, some cousins? It's a big family" says Colin, his voice tender in a way that Mickey could have never imagined. 

To be honest there are several things about Colin's life these days that Mickey could have never imagined. Two months prior to it, his brother ended up falling in love with a bartender in New Mexico and moved to live with her near El Paso. The fact that his bigoted racist brother got together with a Mexican in the first place and then abandoned Southside to be with a girl still blows Mickey's mind. 

But from business perspective it ends up a great thing. Colin helps to take care of their contacts and business in New Mexico and Iggy supports Svetlana in Chicago. They expand beyond tequila to every alcohol beverage Mexico produces; they start hiring other people to drive the trucks; they start getting serious cash. 

His crazy Russian ex-wife proves to be excellent at pushing alcohol to fellow bar owners and distributors. He suspects she pockets a good third of what she makes, but he can do fuck all about it from here. Plus, one thing he's never doubted about Svetlana (beside that fact that she's a crazy bitch) is that whatever she does will benefit Yevgeny. He can spare some bucks for his son. 

Besides, between the factory, the new clients, New Mexico business and Chicago trade, Mickey's "escape" fund is growing faster than ever.

 

***

"Wow" Paolo groans as he falls back against the pillows and Mickey can't help feeling a little arrogant. 

"Amazing, brilliant, you are a God" the young Mexican continues waxing poetic until Mickey kicks him in the shin.

"Would you shut up?" He grumbles and reaches out for cigarettes. 

He and Paolo have been fucking around for the last couple of months. Mickey would not exactly call it dating or any other shit like that. He still hooks up with other people occasionally and he's sure Pablo's getting around too. But they tend to always be available to each other. It's nice - not having to worry about inviting someone over or learning someone's name. It's easy, convenient.  And he can't deny that the sex is fucking good. 

The young man turns on his side and shoots him a fond glance.

"You Americans are so unemotional" he complains dramatically

"And you are a fucking pussy" Mickey replies and he appreciates that Paolo laughs in return.

 

***

"Catch me, catch me, catch me!!!" Jorge shouts to his sister from behind a sole tree adorning factory's front yard.

"Estupido!" Anna chases him around the tree trunk, changing directly rapidly. 

"Cut it out!" Mickey complains "Can you fucking let a guy have his smoke in piece?"

The kids ignore him as is their habit. 

"Got you!" Shouts Anna, her fingers a mere inch from the boy's sleeve, but the last second Jorge dodges out of the way and sprints up the side of Hector's truck. It's a monster old Jeep, one of that impossible-to-kill models; its bright red bulk is almost as recognisable in the village as Hector's sombrero and white moustache. The old man's ridiculously proud of it. 

The young Guerrero whoops from the top and Anna lets out an angry wail. Then she turns to Mickey and smiles her most angelic smile.

"Could you make sure that he doesn't jump off you side?"

"Don't you dare" Jorge shout and turns to him "Mickey, it's unfair!"

Mickey pretends to contemplate it.

"Hmm, welcome to life, buddy. It's fucking unfair. What would I get if I help you?" He asks Anna

The little girl's face turns serious and she presses a finger to her lips.

"I'll help you clean your place" she offers and Jorge snorts

"You just want a day on a beach!"

"Yeah, kid, try something different" Mickey measures her up sceptically

"I...I... I'll bake you a cake!" Says Anna finally and Jorge snorts again, but he's starring down on his sister a bit worried 

"Hmm...what kind of cake?" Mickey shuffles closer to the truck "because..."

He makes a sudden move and grabs the distracted Guerrero boy around the waist.

Jorge let's out an indignant laugh and starts kicking his legs and arms around. Anna screams delightedly and runs to grab at her brother.

"Because I really like cake" finishes Mickey and let's go of the boy. Jorge turns around and punches him lightly.

"Traitor!" Mickey shrugs

"It'll teach you not to stand around with your mouth open. It's..."

He freezes and his stomach drops suddenly.

"Jorge, take you sister and go inside to my study. Tell Hector to come the hell here, but stay inside"

"But what…?" Jorge frowns and Mickey allows steel to come into his voice.

"Do as I fucking say, now" miraculously, the kids obey, leaving Mickey alone to stare at a familiar set of black cars drive towards the factory. 

 

***

Mickey's dealing with the cartel has been pretty limited since their agreement in May, a fact that he's been fucking grateful for. Every once in a while, he passes their cars on the roads and or encounters characteristic faces in the roadside bars and restaurants. Very rarely one of the village boys would run into trouble with drugs and Ramirez would call Mickey or Antonio to pick them up. But it's the first time they've directly approached Guerrero's property.

"The fuck they are doing here?" Asks Hector from behind him as they both watch a cloud of dust raise from the wheels as they park near the entrance

"The fuck should I know?" Mickey throws "Keep your mouth shut, ok? Play the host and nothing stupid" 

Hector huffs and puffs angrily but disappears back in the building. Mickey leans against the doorframe, not moving back in, not moving forward, his paw relaxed and disinterested. _Southside 101: If you can't afford to be aggressive, pretend not to give a shit._  

A group of Mexicans exit the car, Ramirez leading and three other guys Mickey's never seen before following slightly behind. They make a slow progress towards the building, leisurely, like they own the entire road. The formation makes four people look like a crowd. A part of Mickey that grew up among juvie politics kind of appreciates it. 

"Hola!" Ramirez raises his hand, the smile slightly broken "Que pasa?"

"Hola!" Mickey replies evenly "It's fucking hot!" 

Ramirez laughs, as Mickey expected him to. The cartel's man is dressed in dark leather; probably thinks it's fucking winter himself. That's fine, no harm in making people laugh at your weirdness. Hating the heat doesn't make you weak. 

Right on time Hector comes forward, a bottle of tequila and several shot glasses in his hands. His own greeting is much more elaborate and civilised then Mickey's, but it's appropriately dignified as well. He moves the party to the table in the shade and pours tequila and Mickey uses the moment to discreetly study the visitors.

Ramirez companions are all new; not surprising given that the turnover in the business must be pretty high. They all look the same though, early twenties, compact figures, leather and black glasses, unmoving faces. Or at least three of them are, because Mickey does a double take when he sees the forth guy. He is dressed absolutely the same, but he looks different. Thirties, medium height, tanned face, rough features, wiry rather muscular. His features are distinctively American, a mop of dirty blond hair on his head, the skin tanned, but at the same time pale compared to his companions. 

Mickey catches himself staring at the guy and immediately realises that his attention didn't go unnoticed - when he turns Ramirez tiny little eyes are boring into him intensely. Mickey stares back. _Southside 101: if someone's got a problem with you, let them express it._  

"That's Wade" Ramirez motions towards the American "He's just joined us after running into a few... altercations with the US authorities in California"

"Dennis" Wade introduces himself; he sounds midwestern, almost Chicago and Mickey feels a pang of nostalgia rush through him. He wonders where the California bit came from. 

"Mickey" he replies and turns to the other guys, but clearly Ramirez got no intention of introducing them.

"Mickey here has been a great help in establishing business with our clients in the States" he continues talking to Wade.

Mickey shrugs again, doesn't offer any details. There is fuck all that would benefit cartel even if they know he's a fugitive, but some randomly appearing Americans are another matter. 

The conversation moves to other topics - agave, tequila, families, women - as they slowly go through the bottle. Once the last of the tequila disappears into the glass, Mickey turns to Ramirez.

"Any particular reason for your visit?" The Mexican slaps his forehead as if he's just remembered something. He's a bad actor.

"We wanted to buy a couple of boxes of your excellent tequila" he takes out his wallet "we are having a party" 

"Sure" Mickey shrugs "It's a thousand dollars, minus 30% discount for you guys" 

He hears Hector sucking in a breath next to him, but doesn't react. Free tequila is not part of the deal and he doesn't want to show how unsettled he is by the entire situation. 

Ramirez nods enthusiastically, pays the money without a single objection, exchanges flourishing goodbyes with Hector. And then the entire company just ups and leaves as unhurriedly as they arrived. 

"What was that about?" Asks Hector

"The fuck do I know?" Mickey stares behind the disappearing cars, sick feeling settling deep in his stomach "The fuck do I know..."

 

***

During the next couple of weeks, it starts feeling like the new cartel member has a particular fascination with Guerreros and Mickey. Mickey runs into him in the store, at petrol station, in a couple of bars. Wade always smiles and nods, tries to strike a conversation. It sets Mickey's nerves on edge. 

  

***

Mickey's not surprised to find an invitation to join Ramirez for a night out in a club waiting for him at the bar one day. He still has no idea what's happening; hopes that it might be just some inner-cartel power play.

"I'm going with you" Miguel says his favourite phrase and Mickey shakes his head 

"Might not be the best of ideas. He wants me alone and I should come alone" It's a rare time when Miguel relents.

The club - with loud music, flashy lights and gyrating naked women - is the last place he wants to be, but he knows how the game is played. The cartel occupies the entire corner with the rest of the patrons stirring clear away. He recognises a couple of faces, including the American. 

Ramirez greets him like an old friend when he enters and sits him next to himself at the table. There's is a girl in the tiniest dress Mickey's ever seen on his other side, her hand permanently fixed on the drug lord's crotch. 

Mickey drinks, smokes and watches the strippers with as much appreciation as he dims appropriate. The atmosphere - the macho culture, the alcohol, the sex - it's all familiar enough to him that he can fall into the act easily. 

He doesn't ask Ramirez anything; _Southside 101: let them come to you._

"Having fun?" Asks Ramirez "you could join us for these events more often. You seem like a man who would appreciate it"

_"You have no idea" Mickey thinks, a bit hysterically_

"Hmm, sure" Mickey shrugs "But how about you cut to the chase and tell me why I'm here" he makes himself sound matter-of-factly 

Because _Southside 101: let them come, but don't let them think they can bullshit you_. Ramirez inclines his head a little bit, pats his companion on the thigh, waits until she disappears and moves closer to Mickey.

"What do you think of my new American friend, Mickey?" Mickey doesn't hesitate

"What am I supposed to think about him? He's American, we aren't all one big family" 

For some reason Ramirez seems to like it.

"Yes, yes, of course. But you see, he's made himself quite a name in California. Such a name indeed that we thought he's ready to move up the ladder so to speak. He seems very ambitious"

Mickey continues to listen, can't decide whether it's going the good way or bad.

"But, you see, I'm a careful man. And I don't like new faces, as you can recall. So, I've been wondering if he's maybe a little too ambitious?"

"And how the fuck can I help you with it?" Mickey wonders

"I was thinking you could make a couple of calls, see if the things he's been telling us about himself are true"

Mickey shakes his head.

"I ain’t a fucking Google. Your people could do a better job"

"Yes, of course. Except my people sent him here in the first place" Ramirez bores his eyes into him "and you are... unbiased"

And now Mickey understands what the shit at the factory was all about. Ramirez wanted to make sure that he and Wade never met before. Mickey doesn't like where it's going. But he opens his mouth and knows there is only one way it can go for him. 

"What do you fucking want to know?" He asks

 

***

Mickey pretends to be way drunker than he is and slips the club at around 1 am. He feels tired, dirty and scared and he has fucking no desire to think about the shit that has just been dumped in his lap. 

His stumbles into the house in the dark, leaves the door open so that it brings on tender autumn breeze from the ocean, makes two steps inside when he hears a characteristic click to his right. 

" _Idiot"_ he thinks at himself because his gun is in the glove compartment of the car.

His heart does a backflip, but he continues walking towards the lamp and switches it on. Dennis Wade is sitting at the kitchen table, a gun in his hands.

"Fucking really?" Mickey asks 

"Thought it would be a better idea than approaching you on the street" And now his accent is definitely Chicago, Mickey thinks, giving the intruder another look. 

"Southside?" Dennis or whatever his name is asks

"No, fucking Lakeview" Mickey sneers still smarting about not having a gun even though he seems not to be in any immediate danger of dying

"I'm from Kenwood" Mickey stares him down, because really!? 

"And what the fuck do you want from me?" The guy inclines his head slightly, watching Mickey intently. 

"I want you to do what Ramirez asked you to do" Mickey lifts an eyebrow

"You mean you want me  _not_  to do what Ramirez asked me to do?" Mickey asks "Who are you? DEA? FBI? Another cartel?" 

"Let's just say, I'll really appreciate if you were careful with interpreting the results" 

"And why would I do it?" Mickey raises his hands mockingly

"Let's just say I would not do any digging on my own" offers Wade

"Dig away" bluffs Mickey, but he knows that it's turning out badly, that he's not convincing enough. His heart does a double take and he curses himself.

"It doesn't have to end badly" says Wade "the only thing you need to say is that you haven't found anything strange about me. And then you can just forget about all of it"

"Yeah, until the moment they discover I lied" Mickey sneers "And what the fucking point in your threats if you’ll be dead too?"

Wade shrugs "You don’t think I’m working on my own, do you?”

 

***

Mickey spends the next day sitting quietly in the corner of the bar and weighing his options. The locals are used to him enough that they just ignore him, but it doesn't take Antonio long to join him

"What's wrong with the cartel?" he asks directly and adds sternly when Mickey shakes his head "It's my family and my business, Mickey"

Mickey tells him.

"Who is this Wade?" Antonio wonders thoughtfully

"Who knows? DEA, FBI, another cartel? Whoever he is, he's going to be trouble" 

"If you lie to the cartel, Mickey" says Antonio calmly "and they find out you are dead”

“Yeah, there is that” Mickey shakes his head “but Southsiders don’t snitch”

“Neither do Mexicans and look where it landed us”

  

***

Mickey calls Ramirez the next day and tells him that Wade checked out clean, adds a couple of details for credibility. He waits for shit to hit the fan immediately, but surprisingly nothing happens. Mickey's not naive enough to think that there will be no repercussions, but he's slowly lulled into a feeling of calm.

 

 

***

_Chicago_

Three thousand miles up north Ian wakes up screaming. 

It takes a couple of seconds for the world around him to come in focus; street noise penetrating the rush of blood in his ears and the grey ceiling of his flat replacing the images of blood. 

Ian rubs his eyes, tries to catch his breath. It's the second time this week; he lost the count of times he’s had the nightmare this month. 

"Hey, you all right?" Trevor asks, voice sleepy. Ian feels a hand touch his shoulder and can't help the flinch. Quickly he gets out of bed.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Just had a strange dream”

"You sure?" Trevor sits up in bed

"Yes, I'm fucking sure!" Ian grits through his teeth before escaping to the bathroom.

He shuts the door behind him and turns on the cold water, buries his palms under the stream.

It's a different variation of the same dream almost every time, ever since he got the damn package. He sees Mickey and Mickey's hurt and Mickey's dying. The location changes - sometimes it's the border, sometimes it's some strange place, sometimes it's Chicago; then weapon changes too - a gun, a knife, a shiv. The only thing that is constant is that he sees Mickey attacked by a silent shadow assailant. And he wants to scream to warn him and run to help, but he can't move, can't do anything but watch the man he loves fall on the ground clutching at his chest or side.  And then finally Ian's legs start working again and he runs to Mickey, cradles him in his arms and tries to stop the bleeding. But it's useless, all his EMT training doesn't mean a thing as he watches Mick struggle for breath, life slowly draining from his blue eyes. And then he wakes up. 

"Ian, are you all right?" Trevor knocks on the door and Ian signs. His fingers are numb from the cold water so he guesses he's been here awhile.

"I'm fine" he forces out, tries for calm, but ends up sounding angry "Be out in a minute" He closes the tap and dries his hands, all the time avoiding looking at himself in the mirror. 

Trevor is sitting on the bed when Ian gets out and he's got his counsellor look on. Ian cringes, makes a beeline to the kitchen. 

"It's not the first time" Trevor says behind his back "Are you sure you are all right?" 

"Yeah" Ian sends him a quick smile over his shoulder "just my nerves, I guess. Maybe the new pills"

"It's just you don't normally dream at all" 

 _"I used to"_ Ian thinks  _"I used to dream all the time"_

Ian hears the steps behind him, feels his muscles tense involuntary.

"What are your dreams about?" Trevor's chin presses into his shoulder.

"Nothing" Ian makes as if he's reaching for the side cardboard, which effectively pulls him out of Trevor's embrace "I actually don't remember. Some vague scary images" He takes out a can of coffee out of the cupboard. His neatly arranged cupboards ”You want some? Or do you want to sleep another couple of hours?"

"Why don't we both go back to sleep? I'll take your mind off scary monsters" Trevor's back in his personal space, a coy smile on his lips and, God, a year ago Ian thought it was adorable. Now he feels sick to his stomach. 

"I need to get ready to work" he lies "busy shift" 

He's going to run to work, he decides, he feels full of anxious energy despite waking up so early and he needs to get rid of it.  

"What is wrong with you?" Asks Trevor, his voice suddenly petulant

 _"Too many things, but right now I'll just vomit if you touch me"_ Ian thinks.

"Nothing, I just need to get to work" he moves towards the wardrobe, but he knows that Trevor went on the offensive and he's not going to let it go.

"Is it about you topping again?" The shorter brunette asks angrily "Are you holding a grudge because I wouldn't consider it?"

Ian closes his eyes and curses the moment he raised the topic with Trevor again. 

"No, of course not" Ian takes his uniform out, packs it in the bag 

"Really?" Trevor voice trembles slightly "because it sure as hell sound like you that!" 

"I just asked if you wanted to try it, Trev. It was just a question.." Ian closes his eyes.

"You know that I’m a top, that I don’t want to bottom. And could you look at me when I'm talking?" And Ian could argue that he used to be a top as well and that he didn't want to bottom either; that he doesn't want to bottom _now_ for sure. But he just doesn't have the energy. Suddenly the only thing that he wants is to crawl into his bed, alone, pull a blanket over his head and never wake up. He pushes the urge away. 

"I'm sorry" he makes himself take a step towards Trevor "I'm not holding a grudge, I promise. I'm just stressed about work"

And it would take longer, more to placate Trevor, but Ian just leaves it like that, kisses his boyfriend's cheek and leaves.

 

***

Work _is_ stressful. Ian is trying to catch up on his shifts, on studying for his exams - everything he missed for three weeks when his only concern was Debbie. 

Everyone's in the team is understanding, Rita offers to adjust his schedule back to daytime; Sue looks out for him in her tough, slightly sarcastic manner. Ian struggles to find enough words to show his appreciation. He takes them out for drinks instead, makes sure to stay around for small talk instead of rushing off to the centre. 

Still, it's hard and after long shifts and long hours of studying, he often feels drained mentally. But he doesn't want to give up. His savings are gone again, so he could do with the money. And he needs to make this life work again. He needs a goal, a purpose, a reason. He needs to believe again that it was all worth it. 

 

***

"Hey" Ian says when Trevor picks up the phone

"Hey" He can hear from Trevor's voice that the young man still hasn't quite forgiven him. He forces himself to approach gently.

 "Sorry about this morning. I was just spooked by the nightmare" Trevor hums softly in the background.

"You want to hang out tonight? Maybe grab a movie, order a pizza? I'll try to get off my shift earlier"

"I can't" Trevor's voice hardens again "I've got lots to do at the centre" Ian sighs; he knows where it's going. Heavy silence settles between them.

"We could use some help" Trevor's tone is not exactly accusatory, but Ian gets the message. He thinks about the quiet of his apartment, about how tired he is, how he just wants to unwind. 

"Sure" He forces the smile into his own voice "I'll head over as soon as I'm done" 

 

***

Ian doesn't mean to start skipping out on Trevor’s project. But he used to go at least every couple of days, and now it's only once or twice a week that he manages to stop by. 

Sometimes Ian just doesn't have much time, not between studying and work. Other times he could have made it happen, could have found an hour or two, but he just doesn't want to. Suddenly, the centre becomes a place that drains his energy. It's busier these days, with the hostel, more volunteers appearing, more sponsors coming to check upon them, more kids hanging around. Things are growing bigger and better. Trevor loves it, thrives in it; Ian doesn't. 

It's not the change itself that bothers him - God knows Trevor deserves his dreams to come true. It's just that... Ian liked it when things were smaller, cosier. When it was a world that he could control and take care of. He's not like Trevor, he discovers when he stops being able to remember everyone's name, he can't love the entire world; just his own small patch of it. 

And Ian despises the politics, the compromises, the horrendous amount of administrative work they must do. For Trevor these things are just necessary evils, something he's willing to put up with as long as he feels like he's making progress, any progress. To Ian they feel like succumbing to unfairness, like going backwards. 

And there is something else as well. Back in the spring, when Ian first started coming around to the centre in the hopes to get Trevor back, the kids, their problems, the way they looked up to him - it touched him deeply. It has always been tough, difficult - the lost looks, the consequences of violence, the unfairness of this entire world imprinted on someone so young. But now it turns fucking unbearable. It's like he's one large nerve and all those things hit him with the force of a thousand blows. And he can't bear it so he stays away. 

 

***

Trevor's not happy about what he sees as Ian's abandonment of their cause; probably another reason he gets so prissy over the slightest offence. Ian gets a feeling that his boyfriend thinks Ian's slacking off, doesn't want to put in an effort anymore. Ian can't say this distrust doesn't hurt. 

He tries to make up for this discord between them. But outside the centre and bedroom, there are few moments and  places in their lives where they connect. And things aren't going well in the bedroom. 

He invites Trevor over to the drinks with his colleagues once. Trevor doesn't get Sue's harsh sarcastic humour, no-nonsense cynic attitude; Raul's a nice kind family guy, but he's famous for not having an opinion about anything and Trevor has no patience for people like that. Ian hopes Trevor might get along with his new colleague Colleen, an out in the open lesbian, but she is not really into LGBTQ rights and Trevor's preaching clearly makes her uncomfortable. The entire thing feels forced; Ian never wants to do it again.

He reminds himself to invite Trevor to the next Gallagher get together, because Trevor likes and adores his family. Except he has no idea when the next Gallagher get together is going to happen - last time he went to the old house was when Debbie got out of the hospital, and that was almost a month ago. It feels like those weeks when they came together as a family to help their little sister were just a blip, an abnormally. And now they are back to living their separate lives, trying to prove that they are doing great, that life can be peaceful and successful for the Gallaghers, that  _nothing_  bad ever happened. 

Fiona's back to being a businesswoman, rushing between Patsies and her building, helping Debbie with her recovery. Lip's swimming through his first trimester back at college, working his ass off in spare time. Liam's back at school, back to the world of rich and affluent. And Debbie - Debbie's trying to find her new place in life. 

Ian doesn't blame them, doesn't initiate contact either. He too wants to forget those weeks, to prove that everything's fine in the world.

 

***

Ian doesn't mean to forget the dinner date with Trevor's friends, he honestly doesn't. But he has a long shift and he's exhausted and he wants to go home. He remembers that he's supposed to be somewhere else only when he opens the door to his apartment. It's not too late, he can still rush to the restaurant and be fashionably late. But he thinks about having to sit at the restaurant table, listen to DS rage about some dude at work calling her a "she", while trying to remember the right pronounce himself. He shoots Trevor a short message and goes to bed. 

Next morning Ian heads to the centre after his Saturday shift. The place is booming and Ian has to stop to greet several people in the process. He sees Trevor on the other side of the room and waves, but the young man turns around and disappears into his office. Ian sighs before following him.

"Hey, everything's all right?" Ian leans against the open door. Trevor is putting away some folders, his movements abrupt and angry.

"I'm sorry about last night" Ian takes a couple of steps into the room "I didn't mean to blow the dinner, but this extra shift came up and..."

"We waited half an hour for you. And when your text came, the guys were crushed" he turns to face Ian, his face closed off, arms crossed "You know how sensitive they are to ignorance, to being undermined!"

"I'm sorry" Ian steps closer, opens his arms "I'm so sorry, I'll make it up to them, I promise" 

Trevor lowers his gaze, stays silent for a while.

 "Are you cheating on me?" He asks suddenly, his voice unsteady

"What?" Ian asks shocked

"I'm asking if you are cheating on me"

"How can you think that?" Ian says slowly. And the truth is that he did cheat on Trevor _technically_ , but that's different, that's survival, got nothing to do with sex or faithfulness. 

"Oh, I don't know!" Trevor shifts a little but doesn't come closer. They continue standing like that, 4 feet apart "How about you never being around, blowing me off, demanding different things in bed, abandoning everything we stand for"

"I have not abandoned anything!" Ian feels himself grow irritated "I just missed one dinner date because of work! And I would never cheat on you!" 

"Really? Because this is exactly what you did eight months ago!" Ian staggers a step back as if he's been hit.

"How can you...?" He realizes his voice is trembling and swallows "Why would you...? It was completely different" he whispers. 

"How?" Sarcasm is dripping from young activist's mouth "How was it different? You went off to fuck someone else and forgot all about me!"

"It wasn't someone else!!" Ian clenches his fists at his side. It hurts, listening to Trevor draw the comparison, between Ian going away with Mickey and cheating with a stranger. As if... as if Trevor doesn't know him at all.

"Oh, I'm sorry - your ex- _boyfriend_. And that makes it all right?" Trevor shouts shrilly. By now, the entire centre must have heard them "What is the fucking difference?"

"I love Mickey!" Ian shouts angrily, takes another step forward "That's the fucking difference!"

They both freeze. Ian from the shock of his own words, Trevor from the strength of his aggression, Ian presumes. 

"Get out!" the brunette says finally and Ian does.

 

***

Ian doesn't hear anything from Trevor in the next couple of days; doesn't know if he wants to.

He is just getting off Monday morning shift when Debbie calls asking for a favour. He's got nothing to do and he promised himself to start taking better care of his family, so he heads to the old Gallagher house.

"Thanks so-so much, Ian!" Debbie says as soon as she opens the door. She looks good, face fresh, hair down, a pretty blouse and blue jeans. Had it not before a pair of clutches nobody would be able to say she's recently had complicated surgery

"Frank was supposed to babysit Franny, but he bailed out and I have to meet the guys from the school; they might have some work for me"

"Sure" Ian takes of his coat and proceeds into living room. Franny's asleep in her little bassinet on the couch "How are you feeling?" 

"Good" Debbie shouts from the kitchen "Feel good and the therapy is working! Plus" she comes back into the living room with her bag "It's such a relief not to be afraid that Fi will throw me out of here!" 

"Hmm" Ian's glad that Fiona let up the rules for Debbie after the accident ”You talked with Derek?"

"Yes" Debbie makes a face "The fucker still wants custody. He's not fucking getting it! Shit, I forgot my phone" she rushes back to the kitchen hopping like a bunny. Ian's eyes wander around the familiar room.

"Hey, what's that?" His eyes drop into a strange black box sitting on the table

"What? Oh that" Debbie's voice scrunches again "Lip's project for school; solar something. Who knows!"

"Looks like a car battery" Ian shrugs; he's not much of a technology guy but Lip’s inventions always look interesting.

"Probably is. After Sammie I've had enough car batteries to last a lifetime" 

"Yeah..." Ian does a double take "Wait, what? What does Sammie have to do with car batteries?" It's been a very long time since he heard about their sister.

He expects some crazy story to follow, but instead Debbie just freezes in the middle of the room and looks at him funnily.

"Oh... I guess I never told you about that" she shrugs, but her face muscles are pulled tight "I got a car battery when Mickey and I decided to teach that bitch a lesson. Never used it of course because she turned up fake dead" 

"Teach her a lesson?" Ian repeats dumbly. It feels like he's been dropped in some parallel reality and for the sake of him he's got no idea what Debbie's talking about.

"Yeah, torture her" Debbie nods "It’s not like we were trying to kill her!" She snorts, starts moving around the room looking for something "I thought Mickey told you"

"You were there with Mickey?" Ian asks slowly "you were there when Mickey tried to kill Sammie?"

 _"How come I never knew that before?"_ He thinks

 _"You never asked"_ his subconscious offers conveniently

"We were not trying to kill her" Debbie repeats, clearly irritated at having to do so "Just really scare her. But then we thought she stopped breathing and Mickey decided to hide her body in the container. Aha!"

She reaches out behind the couch pillows to pull out her purse and drops it into her bag.

"God, after she got caught, I was scared shitless for days that they would come and arrest me! But clearly the crazy bitch decided not to rat"

"Yeah" Ian says on autopilot. The world around him is foggy and unfocused; his own voice sounds far away.

"Anyway, it's all water under the bridge now. I've got to go. Fiona will be back at 6 to relieve you, ok? Thanks, a tone!" 

Ian hears the front door close and slowly sinks down on the couch. His thoughts race so fast it's impossible to grab at any particular one.

_"Debbie... Debbie was here when Mickey tried to kill Sammie... except they were not trying to kill her... Mickey got arrested, but Debbie wasn't... Mickey got 15 years"_

Ian desperately tries to remember the consequence of events surrounding Mickey's arrest, but the entire period is just... foggy and unclear like a dream. He remembers breaking up with Mickey on the porch, remembers strange feeling of relief settling upon him - at knowing that now he doesn't have to fight anymore, can just stop caring; that the only person who mattered will be gone and there will be no expectations, no pity, no one to witness how ugly, weak and powerless he became. And then the only thing he remembers is feeling nothing, absolute numbness that lasted for months until a burning car and a rush of adrenaline woke him up from the apathy. 

He never asked Mickey about his sentence, he realises, he never once thought about going to the trial ( _was there even a trial??)_ , he only learned about the sentence from fucking Svetlana when she...

The memory of taking money from Svetlana makes him feel sick, bile raising from the bottom of his stomach. He rushes to the downstairs bathroom and manages to make it just in time before he loses his lunch. He retches for what feels like forever until there is nothing left in his stomach and then he just sinks down to the floor, all energy drained and closes his eyes. 

He abandoned the man who loved him because it was too hard and he never looked back. 

 

***

It’s a routing run to Puerto Vallarta, just a couple of boxes, so Mickey takes his own car. It’s a hot evening, the sun is close to setting and he leaves the windows open. He doesn’t panic when he sees the police officer waving him down, it’s one of the cartel’s people. 

“Que pasa?” He asks nonchalantly 

“One of your factory boys got caught in the warehouse” the officer explains "Ramirez told you to come and pick him up if you want to"

“Sure” Mickey grips the wheel. It’s not a unique request, happened a couple of times before. Suarez kid is trouble and Hector only keeps him because he’s someone relative. But there is a nasty feeling settling in his stomach. 

 _“It’s fine”_ he says to himself _“going to be fucking fine”_

He can't _not_ go; the cartel will beat Suarez up big time and throw him out on the road somewhere - not life-threatening event, but Regina will be devastated. 

The warehouse looks empty, like it did the last time he came here, but as he parks his car he can see a couple of cartel men lurking around the corners; he waves to them casually.

The insides of the warehouse are dim and it takes Mickey’s eyes a couple of seconds to adjust. The first thing he sees is Ramirez sitting at the table, a cigar in his hand. The second is Dennis Wade, lying on the floor, his mouth covered in blood. The third thing he doesn’t see, but he doesn’t need to - there are few things a man can mistake with a barrel of the gun pressed against the back of his head. 

 _“Oh, shit”_ Mickey thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a couple of points:  
> 1) I typically not a fan of cliffhangers, but they crept in a couple of times in the middle of the story
> 
> 2) I am not very happy with how scenes with Trevor turned out, he's coming across a bit more asshole-ish as I intended; but hopefully Ian's mood is coming across
> 
> 3) Ian and Debbie... again, not 100% sure I nailed this scene. She has no idea what she's just done to Ian, what the magnitude of her words is...


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't want to die" and the thought is a surprise because from the moment he crossed the border, the only thing that he really cared about was not going back to prison. But now...  
> "I do not want to fucking die"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another step in Mickey's journey... It's a very action filled chapter, which is not my strong suit. It also turned out very-very long.

_Mexico, late October_

 

***

Mickey feels the cold muzzle of the gun press to the back of his head and forces himself to breathe evenly.

"What the hell is going on?" He asks and hopes he gets the tone right, surprised and slightly annoyed.

"You tell me" Ramirez small pig-like eyes are boring into him shrewdly. 

"What? That's some kind of riddle?"

Mickey lifts his eyebrow, throws a bit of sarcasm into his voice. _Southside 101 - Don't show them you are afraid._ He allows his gaze to travel slowly around the room, drop at the bleeding man kneeling in the corner before coming back to Ramirez.

"We've got a problem, Mickey" Ramirez says "A big problem" 

"What kind of problem?" Mickey asks because this is what's expected of him

"You told me a week ago that I could trust this piece of shit" he waves his gun towards Wade. The American stays silent. 

"No" Mickey allows himself a tiny shrug, a muzzle of the gun scrapes against his hair unpleasantly "What I fucking told you was that he was who he says he is. What would he do?" Another shrug "Steal your coke?"

Ramirez hand moves again and suddenly one of the guards takes a step forward and lands a square punch in Mickey's face.

"Fuck" Mickey shouts as he almost doubles, but forces himself to continue "The fucks wrong?" 

Another punch lands onto his stomach and he allowed himself to sway, lowers his head in submission, allows fear to enter his eyes. Because that's what Ramirez wants - fear. 

"I just got news from Los Angeles, our friends have been arrested - friends that worked directly with this bastard" A nasty smile appears on Ramirez face "So that leads me to a question. Is it some kind of crazy consequences or is he a mole? And if he is a mole, that means that you lied to me"

"I did not lie" Mickey says slowly and braces himself for another punch, which comes immediately, a sharp kick to the back of his knee, which makes him stumble. A pair of hands behind him keep him upright, keep his head in line with the muzzle. Mickey's illogically grateful - he would rather have a muzzle pressed against him than fall on the floor, where he would be vulnerable. _Those who fall, don't get up - Southside 101._

"I did not fucking lie" he repeats "why would I?"

Ramirez inclines his head.

"Maybe you work together with him?" He motions once again and this time it's the American who gets the punch, a vicious kick in the mouth that makes the blood splash around. Mickey forces himself not to wince.

"Against the cartel? How stupid do you think I am?" He lets the fear show in his voice again

 _"Very-very stupid"_ he thinks to himself

"It would be very stupid, yes" Ramirez nods "Because you must have realised that death would be an easy way round if I found out"

Mickey stays silent, doesn't offer anything more, lets Ramirez mind settle around this thought.

"So how do you explain this?" The cartel lord asks

"How the fuck would I know?" Mickey shrugs again "You asked me to find out if what he said was true. My sources confirmed it. Maybe they lied, or maybe he's got influence or maybe he's innocent. I used Kazakevich  - you can ask them if you want to"

And that's a big gamble, right here, because Ramirez can pick up the phone and call Kazakevich right now. Except it's almost 11 pm, which makes it midnight in Miami, which makes it a late hour. And Ukrainian mafia is not going to look kindly at being woken up in the middle of the night. It shows disrespect, especially from those who are suppliers and not distributors. Which makes it likely that Ramirez won't be able to check his story out before morning. 

That is if he would want to check it at all. For a moment he can see Ramirez contemplating it, tiny wheels turning into his ugly head. It's not that Mickey's valuable to the cartel, but Ramirez can't know how valuable Mickey is to Kazakevich; truth is - not so much, but there is no way for the cartel leader to know. 

"Ok" Ramirez nods his head finally "let's see if you are telling the truth" 

He nods to someone behind Mickey and the muzzle slowly moves away. 

"You are free to go" he nods "for now" he turns towards Wade "lock this one up" American lifts his head finally and for a second his eyes lock with Mickey's. They are wide, but not scared; intense as if he's trying to tell Mickey something.

Mickey doesn't linger, just nods at Ramirez and walks out of the warehouse. The first gulp of the fresh air makes him almost dizzy, but he shakes the feeling off. He's got about six hours to get as far away as possible from this place. 

Which is not the worst odds he had, he contemplates as he gets in the car. Most of his money is stored in different bank accounts, but he's got a lot of cash as well. The only thing he needs to do is drop by the village, grab his shit and hightail it out before morning; withdraw money at the nearest bank he finds and start driving south towards fucking border. He’s sure Ramirez men will follow him around, but he has a fair chance of escaping.

The thought tastes sour on his mouth, regret filling him at the thought of leaving everything behind again, running - again. All because of some assholes who believe they own the goddamn world! He won't even have time to say goodbye to...

And then it's like a cold bucket of water lands on his head. He can run, but he's not alone in this mess; Guerreros are just as dependent on the cartel as he is and they can't just up and go. And what would Ramirez do when he discovers him gone, who is his rage going to fall on? 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!!!" Mickey squeezes steering wheel. He should leave, he can't not leave if he wants to survive. And he  _can't_  leave. He can't betray people who have taken him in like that. 

And he needs to make the decision now, because he's going to draw attention if he doesn't move in the next minute. In his back mirror he can see the doors to the warehouse open again, a couple of guards leading Wade to one of the outbuildings.  The American is stumbling, his hands handcuffed on the front, a guard arm on each elbow. His eyes are boring into the back of Mickey's vehicle. 

 _"You don't think I'm working alone, do you?"_ He remembers his words. What if... If there is any government involvement (which there _must_ be with all the arrests), there might be a chance of someone stomping on cartel.  He looks at the flat terrain of the yard in front of him.

 _"No"_ he tells himself " _That would be very-very stupid!"_

The American and the guards pass about thirty feet from Mickey's car; his and Wades eyes catch again. 

" _Fuck!"_  Mickey thinks, but his foot is already pressing down on the gas and his hands grip the wheel to make a fast turn to the left. He has mere few seconds to get the trajectory right, but he makes it happen, bumper hitting the guard closest to him in the back. Mickey feels the jostle, the front right side slowing down and the back veering to the left in response. He doesn't fight the momentum, adds gas to help it along. In the corner of the back mirror he sees the guy hit the ground with a cry, hand letting go of the prisoner. He circles too wide to even touch the other guard, but that's all right because the American is moving, using his own momentum to tackle the guy down. Mickey leaves them behind and looks straight ahead. Right in front of him the watchers jump up and start running towards them, guns a blaze. The ex-con does another right turn, just on time to feel a bullet hit the side panel. He throws himself down on the passenger seat, grasps for the passenger door and flings it open. The muscles in his left arm scream as he keeps pushing on the wheel. Now the cartel boys are behind him and he lies flat against the steering wheel. There are a couple of hundred feet between him and the American, who's still wrestling with the guard. Mickey slows down

"Come on" he shouts "Come the fuck on" He's got maybe ten seconds before he reaches the right point, nine, eight, seven... Finally, the American seems to have gained an upper hand, lands the punch that keeps the guard down and struggles to his feet. Mickey slows down to almost a crawl - four seconds, three, two - the car lines up with the handcuffed man and he throws himself in sideways, head hitting Mickey in the shoulder painfully, before he twists around and manages to get his legs inside. Mickey presses his foot down, pushing the car to its limits; he can hear the gunshots behind them, close, very close, but he doesn't look back, just states straight ahead. The speed pulls the passenger door close and Wade uses handcuffed hands to shut it. 

"We need to get out of here as fast as possible" the American shouts 

"No shit!" Mickey throws the car down a side dirt road cursing the fact that's fucking night-time - the tails of his car can be seen for miles. He can hear the bullets hitting all around them.

"Fuck!" Mickey glances at the petrol indicator, but the little line is steady. At least they didn't get their tank pierced. 

His flings the compartment between the seats open and throws the gun in Wade's lap. The American makes quick work of the safety and turns around. It must be awkward to shoot with his hands bound, but he makes a fine job of it - the car closest to them, veers left and right and falls off the cliff. 

"Fuck!" Elation fights with trepidation inside the ex-con. He needs to get out of this wilderness, on some big road along the coast where there is plenty of tourists and lights to get lost among. He makes another sharp turn. The landscape here is hilly and he can't see any lights behind him, which hopefully means that they can't see him either. 

"Where are you going?" The American stops firing, drops the gun sideways and clutches at the front panel to try to keep himself upright.

"I don't fucking know!" Mickey's angry and scared and he is trying to think as fast as possible.

"Fuck!" Another fast turn, then another. 

Mickey's hoping as fuck that 8 months spent on these roads taught him enough; that's he's actually moving forward and not around in circles. Finally, finally he sees the cloud of lights on his right, a coastal road. He finds the nearest exit and slows down; steers the car into a stream of steady traffic towards Puerto Vallarta. 

Mickey exhales slowly. He's fucking drenched from head to toe, perspiration dripping down his forehead. The last thirty minutes, the last hour, feel like one of the longest in his entire life. 

"Nice driving” Wade comments and Mickey glances sideways. The older man is doing something with his cuffs and Mickey uses an opportunity to pocket his gun. 

"I need a phone" Wade says and Mickey digs into his jeans pocket for one of the burners, throws it to the guy he rescued. The American looks like shit, one of eyebrows slashed, blood covering his face, clothes dirty. 

"Clean the fuck up" He motions to the back seat, where his beach towel lies. Earlier this day he stopped to have a swim in the fucking ocean. And now he's fucking _here_. The thought almost makes him hysterical.

The American cleans his face, eyes downcast as he quickly types something in the phone. Mickey glances at him suspiciously from time to time, but otherwise doesn't comment.

They are safe for a little while; no way cartel will open up a gun war on the tourist road. Which still is worth exactly shit. He's got no idea where to go from here and there is plenty of places where cartel can catch up with them. 

 

***

When Mickey takes the first exit to Puerto Vallarta the American tenses.

"We can't go to your place, they will be waiting there"

"You fucking think?!" Mickey snorts and continues driving, past the turn towards his beach house, down a couple of alleys. He's only ever walked to the place once when Jonathan was too drunk to make it on his own from the bar, but the road is easy to remember. He doesn't park in front of the house, but circles behind it into the dirty backyard.

"What's the place?" the American asks suspiciously when Mickey gets out of the car.

"Are you going to ask questions or fucking follow me?"

It's a sort of the test and Wade, or whatever his real name is, seems to understand. He gets out of the car awkwardly, like someone who's been through a hell of a fight and limps behind Mickey towards the backdoor.

The place is dark - it's way past midnight; it takes a good couple of minutes of insistent knocking before Mickey hears slow shuffling on the other side and the door opens slowly.

"Mickey?" Jonathan's face, puffy from sleep and alcohol, looks surprised "what are you...?"

"Let us the fuck in, now!" Mickey hisses and, no arguments or hesitations, Jonathan moves aside. 

He squints at the two bloodied intruders curiously as Mickey makes quick work of the house. Two rooms, a bathroom and kitchen, all empty and quiet, windows closed, a silent buzz of air conditioner. 

"I'm sorry" Mickey walks to him "We need a place to lie low and I don't think they'll search for me here"

"Them being..."

"The cartel" Jonathan whistles but otherwise doesn't react. Maybe he's still hangover from the evening or maybe he just doesn't give a damn.

"And your friend is ..." he nods towards the American who has just finished his own round of check ups 

"Is not my friend" Mickey shakes his head "He fucking got me into this mess and now he's my only chance out. He's name is Wade, except it's probably fucking isn't"

"It actually is" The American speaks for the first time "Dennis Wade, DEA. I really appreciate your hospitality" 

Jonathan introduces himself, gives his unwanted guest a once over.

"Whisky is over there" he motions to the bar stand in the corner "I'm going to get ice"

 

***

Jonathan has no first aid kid, a fucking doctor that he is, so he uses a combination of alcohol and kitchen towels to patch Wade up.  

Meanwhile, Mickey cleans up himself in the bathroom. He's got a bruise on his check and his ribs hurt, but it's nothing serious. He uses a moment to go in the back yard and call Antonio, feeling guilty about the middle of the night call and about all the fucking problems that are about to fall into Guerreros thanks to him. 

Antonio takes the call in the bar, familiar sounds of the room on a busy night behind him. His reaction is as calm as us usual, his focus unwavering.

"Look" says Mickey "when they come to you, give them the address of my house in Puerto Vallarta; give them my things, anything, ok? As long as they believe that this shit is on me, you should be fine"

"They don't need us for any of these" Says Antonio reasonably "What are you going to do, Mickey?" Antonio asks 

"I've got no fucking clue. I'm with this infiltrator guy, whoever the fuck he is; I'll try to figure something out. You just need to lay lower" 

"That we can do. We've got lots of practice" Antonio's voice is tight "How can we help beside that?"

"I don't know" admits Mickey honestly "I don't fucking know" 

 

***

When he gets back into the house, Wade, though Mickey still doesn’t believe it's his name, is getting changed. Jonathan's nowhere to be seen but Mickey can hear him pottering around in the kitchen. The living room table is covered with bandages. 

"I owe you my life" The American says simply "You had no reason to help me and you did" 

"I give fuck all about your life" Mickey says honestly ”And I didn't have any fucking choice. Not with the mess you dragged me into" 

"I did" Wade nods, tags a shirt over his head - clearly a hand down from Jonathan. He's got a nice body, Mickey's height, but thin, wiry. A fox to Mickey's bulldog.

"My only excuse is that I didn't mean to. I thought it will be a one-off favour" 

"Well, you should have tried not to screw up" Mickey says sarcastically; he's angry and tired. 

"I didn't" the older man shakes his head "Something went wrong in LA; they were not supposed to start arrests before I was done here"

"Who the fuck are they?" Asks Mickey "And for that matter who the fuck are you?"

The American reaches out to the bloody pack of cigarettes on the table, tags one out, offers the pack to Mickey. He moves with a quiet quick grace. 

"I'm DEA" he says finally like it's some kind of monumental confession

"Congratu-fucking-lations" Mickey snorts and lights the cigarette; the guy ignores his sarcasm. 

"We are leading a multi-level operation against the Ramirez cartel. I spent a year infiltrating the Los Angeles branch and finally made it over the border last month. The plan was to get into Ramirez good graces, get access to their bank transactions and shit the whole thing down once we have enough evidence"

"But someone screwed up?"

"Shit happens" The American pours himself whiskey, takes a gulp and winces "Someone have an order too early, someone decided to be a hero"

"And now what?" Mickey asks, trying to hide his own nervousness. All this government law enforcement shit doesn't make him feel good in the slightest. 

"Now I can't get hold of my team" confesses Wade "which is not surprising, we were not supposed to be in contact"

"So, what's your plan then?" Mickey asks because he hopes for fuck's sake the guy has one; otherwise they are all screwed big time "Wait for your team to show up?"

He’s definitely not doing that! Law enforcement means ID checks and fingerprints and calls to the US marshals. So, if that's what Wade is supposed to do, Mickey's out of here. Guerreros will be fine as soon as the big guns arrive. 

Wade shrugs again. He must have been a small kid, Mickey thinks, not unlike himself; probably developed this nonchalance as a survival tool back in the Southside.

"I can't wait for them" he takes another gulp of whisky "it might take them 1-2 days to get here and by then all evidence will be gone"

"So what the fuck are you planning to do?" Mickey gets up angrily

"I'm going to break into Ramirez compound" 

 

***

"Are you fucking out of your mind?" Mickey enquiries almost calmly; clearly the guy is insane "How are you going to execute that, exactly?" 

"Get in - get the documents - get out. I know his laptop password"

"Hmm... yeah, sure and the entire cartel is just going to let you pass" Mickey waves his hands imitating a welcome "What are you going to use to get in? A bag of sand? You don't even have a gun!"

"I'll think of something" Wade says simply "And you could lend me your gun" 

"Fuck no!" Mickey objects "I'm pretty sure I'll need in the next couple months while I'm on a run from Ramirez fags" 

"You won't make it two months" Wade said simply "No one runs from the cartel for long"

"I got out of tougher places" argues Mickey, but he knows it's pointless; even if he can make it, he won't leave Guerreras to rot. Wade stares at him as if he knows what he's thinking.

"You fucking bastard" curses Mickey "Fucking dirty bastard"

"I can help you, Mickey" Wade stares him tight in the eye, must have learned the trick at one of those crazy courses "Help me and it will all go away" 

"How do I even know that you are DEA? That you are not just some competing drug lord enforcer?"

Wade grins suddenly, showing a set of teeth that has never seen teenage dentistry. 

"Southside honour"

 

***

Mickey's not good at any of this spy shit, has always been more of a punch his way through kind. But he knows the area way better than Wade does so it's Mickey who comes up with a plan in the early hours of the morning. 

At some point Jonathan comes back into the room with coffee and a pack of cigarettes. It's clear that he's heard most of their conversation, which Wade doesn't like, but Mickey doesn't give a damn about. 

"The only problem is the car" says Wade after Mickey explains his plan "I presume all the local guys know yours"

"Yeah" Mickey turns to Jonathan, sees the man almost asleep in the chair across the room. Not surprising if he's ingested his usual evening dose of alcohol. He kicks him in the shins, though gently.

"Hmm" Jonathan jostles up quickly "What?"

"How attached are you to your car?" It takes American a second to catch up 

"No particularly. It's a lease, insured and all" he gets up quickly and procured a pair keys "I'll report it stolen in a couple of days"

"Thank you" Wade nods "If your insurance falls through I'm sure the American government can take care of the expense" 

Jonathan laughs, openly, loudly, the most cheerful sound Mickey's ever heard from him. His own chest starts hurting and he smirks.

"I think... I think..." Jonathan finally manages to control his breathing "I think you will need to survive first" 

"Speaking of survival" He inclines his head "Do you want my gun as well?!"

He opens a side cabinet and produces a neat box, with automatic Magnum and a case of bullets, all neatly kept and probably never used. Mickey loves guns, loved them since he was a kid; not because of violence, but because of their power and precision. It's a punch your way in weapon, just the way he likes it. And this gun is beautiful, top of the art machine. Wade seems to share his awe as he lifts it from the box and expects it quickly, tries it in his hand.

"Cool!" He says simply, which in alpha male Southside language is the equivalent of rolling around crying with joy "Thanks" 

"No problem" Jonathan nods "I think I'm not going to use it as initially intended after all"

"Going to wait on that liver?" Mickey enquiries curiously and Jonathan laughs again

"Why not? At least it's not boring here these days" 

 

***

They go over the plan three times before calling it a day. It's 6 in the morning and they need to have a good sleep before they can start rolling. Mickey is about to call Antonio for a check-up when he hears some noise in the garden. He dives for his gun and crouches behind the sofa. Wade is already pressed against the wall next to the window gun cocked up, Mickey didn't even see him move. 

There is more shuffling outside, right next to the window and finally Mickey sees a familiar dark-haired head poke inside.

"Fuck! Miguel!" He hisses angrily the same moment Wade jumps up and points the muzzle of his gun at the intruder, point blank. The young man freezes

"Don't shoot" Mickey gets up and lowers his gun. After a moment Wade does too.

"The fuck you are doing here?" Asks Mickey "And how the fuck did you find me?"

"Thought you wouldn't go to your place" Miguel "Then I remembered helping Jonathan one time, thought you might be here" he turns to their host and greets him in English, nods at Wade, his gaze distrustful.

"What's happening?" Asks Mickey 

"Nothing much" Miguel shrugged "Cartel showed up in the village a couple of hours after your call. They searched the house, waved their guns around" His expression is angry and bitter, rage brewing deep into his eyes "Fucking animals!"

"Anyone hurt" Miguel shakes his head "Anyone followed you here?"

"I snuck out in the back of Liane's car; she drives to Puerto Vallarta every two days, nobody paid her any attention" He throws his backpack "I brought your ammunition and some other things. What's the plan?"

 

***

They argue for a while about whether Miguel should go with them or not. Mickey doesn't want his death on his conscience; Wade doesn't want an unknown liability in the operation. But beggars can't be choosers and the plan could benefit from another person. Plus, Miguel is not to be deferred.

"They came into my house, Mickey. They waved the guns at my family. I'm not going to back down again"

Wade looks at Mickey and the ex-con shrugs.

 

***

Back when Mickey started going on the runs with Terry, he used to spend the night before the operation barely sleeping, turning around in nervous anticipation and rising at the slightest disturbance; a big contrast with his father and brothers who would get drunk and fall into deep slumber. Back then he thought it was his inexperience or weakness; now he knows it's just a part of his character, something he can never get rid of. As soon as the action starts, as soon as his head switches into fighting mode, he'll be fine. But now, lying on the pile of blankets on Jonathan's floor, he keeps slipping in and out of consciousness and tries not to think about what tomorrow might bring.

At some point he gives up and makes a call to his contact in Kazakevich gang; he doesn't pick up just as Mickey expected him to. He leaves a simple message "Shit us coming up the Mexican chain, severe the ties, cut the loses". It's not that's he's particularly concerned about the Russian mafioso, but he's no snitch and if he somehow makes it out alive, he doesn't want another gang on his tail. 

He sends a quick message to his brothers cancelling the delivery in a couple of days.

 

***

Miguel rejects the idea of taking Jonathan’s car and finds someone who allows them to hitch a ride in a van heading to Guadalajara.

Sharing a bumpy ride on sacks of maiz, Mickey looks his companion over. In contrast with him Wade switched off as soon as his head touched the pillow and slept soundlessly for 7 hours straight. Not that it did him any good - under the bright light of the day, his bruises stand out against tan skin and there are dark shadows under his eyes. But his hands are steady, his posture semi-relaxed like a boxer between rounds, his eyes are clear and calm. 

"How long have you been doing this shit?" Mickey asks suddenly

"Awhile" Wade says, his foot starts tapping against the truck floor, not a nerve tick, just a way to pass the time.

"How does a Southside guy end in DEA?"

"How does a Southside guy end in Mexico?" 

"I wanted a fucking change of scenery" he shrugs; at this point he has no doubts Wade would be able to find everything about him if he wanted. 

"I bet" the DEA agent smirks, his hand automatically going to his pocket before he remembers that smoking in the back of the truck filled with dry sacks is probably a bad idea. He leans back against the wall instead.

"Truth is I didn't know what else to do, not that I got any transferable skills except knowing how to shoot people" he shrugs "I enlisted as soon as I turned 18. Did a couple of tours, then I was sent to help out DEA in Colombia. They wanted me to go back to work for them. When my contract finished, it was kind of no brainer. And now it's my job" 

"That's your excuse for launching a suicide mission?" Mickey's eyebrows fly up "Man, they must be paying you really good money"

"Money sucks" Wade smirks "But I knew the risks when I signed up for it. And as long as I'm doing it, I can at least do it right"

"Not very Southside of you" Mickey notes though he can personally get behind the idea. You can get by without working great, but if you got a job, you do it right regardless of what the fuck it is. 

"I've not been back to Southside for years" his companion admits 

"Who would be?" Mickey shrugs unimpressed "It's a fucking shithole"

"What, you would not want to go back?" The blonde man lifts his eyebrows "Never ever?" 

Mickey stays silent for a while, because... 

"It's a stupid fucking question" he grits out finally and for the sake of him, he really doesn't know what he means by that.

 

 

***

It's Mexico so Mickey doesn't expect any of the plan to go on time, but 20 minutes past 2, just a little later than expected they hear the car pull up in front of the house, and then heavy pair of boots slowly make their way to the front door. Wade nods and Mickey springs up quickly, takes a step forward and presses the muzzle of his gun into sergeant Martinez lower back.

"Do not move" he hisses in Spanish "or your wife will come home to your brains splashed across the front door"

He can feel the twitch in the policeman's back as he considers disobeying, reaching out for his holster instead. But Wade is faster and before Martinez can even move he has his own gun pressed into his other side.

"Now" says Wade in Spanish "You are going to listen to us very carefully. Otherwise, after I'm done with you, I'm going to wait for your wife and kids to come home and splash their brains all over the front door too" 

 

***

The last time Mickey sat handcuffed in a police car surrounded by officers of law he was heading off to a 15-year sentence and a life of no hope. It's not the best memory of his life and reliving it now makes him uncomfortable. So, does a fresh bruise on his face - when he asked Wade to hit him, he should have specified the desired force.

But none of this compares to the sight of Ramirez' compound gates, a couple of blocks ahead of him.

"Now, keep your cool" he says to Martinez "Remember, you don't want to stay a cripple" 

Martinez shifts in his seat nervously as Wade presses the muzzle of the gun against the cop's side from his position on the floor behind them.

"Do not do anything stupid" Mickey repeats just as the car roll up to the gates. A couple of guards step forward, relaxed at the sight of the cop's car, guns in the holsters at their side. 

"Hola" Martinez greets them "I heard you were looking for this one?" He motions towards Mickey who keeps his head down as if still dazed by a good beat up

"Fuck, yeah! Where did you find him? What about the other one?" Mickey holds his breath, it's critical now that Martinez doesn't blow it.

"Drove straight into my arms" the cop says simply and the guards laugh

"You seen the other one?" Martinez shakes his head

 "He was alone. Is the boss here?"

"Yeah, but he's resting. Take this shit straight inside, there is plenty of people who want to talk to him"

The gates open. 

 

***

Mickey's never been inside the compound; though it's general location is known to the locals most steer away from the place. It's much bigger than he expected with the back of the property stretching right up to the hills. Large villa sits in the centre, surrounded by trees. It looks surprisingly peaceful; quiet too thanks to the Mexican siesta.

"Now what?" Asks Martinez tersely after Wade guides him to park in the quiet corner towards the back, which is not that well covered by cameras. 

Mickey warily observes a pair of cartel thugs hanging out around the entrance. One of them seems to get a message from the gates and heads towards the car. 

"Now we go inside. And remember it takes one message from my friend here to send your wife to hell"

"Good luck" Wade from behind

"Fuck you" Mickey throws back quietly, cursing the DEA officer, the cartel and his own stupidity. 

This is the riskiest point of the entire plan, with too many unknowns and high risks. One gesture, one word from Martinez and he's toast. 

"Where is the other one?" Is the first word out of the thug's mouth; he reaches out to grab Mickey's arm.

"I want to bring him in myself" Martinez follows the script. The thug scowls, but he's clearly used to attention seeking antics from the police officer.

"Then bring him to the back room, boss will be down straight away" 

Inside the villa is just as big and luxury is as inside, marble floors and large hallways. The backroom ends up being a dark cell-like space at the back, furnished by a couple of chairs. The room smells strongly of bleach. It's like a small in-house version of the warehouse. As soon as the door closes behind them, Mickey pushes Martinez towards a chair in the corner, undoes one of the cuffs and pulls out a hand-drawn plan of the house; it takes him a couple of turns before he can align it with his location. The straight lines of the map look nothing like the complicated web of corridors he had been led through.

"Fuck" he mutters and turns towards the door - he'll figure it on his way "Come on, f..."

Martinez gets up from his seat and there is something in his expression that tells Mickey exactly what his next steps are going to be. Maybe it's the horror of the place, maybe it's the false security of being inside cartel’s territory, maybe he's just too angry to think straight but the cop decides that _now_ is the time for action.

Which is stupid because he's sitting down and Mickey's standing; because Mickey's got 20 years on him and has spent most of them fighting people who are way scarier; because Mickey’s fucking pissed and had been looking for someone to punch since yesterday.

And that is exactly what he does, throwing himself forward, nothing gracefully about it, just the entire mass of his body moving at maximum speed. He tackles Martinez before the policemen even has a chance to stand up fully, sending both of them to the floor and landing two-three punches in rapid succession. Martinez's stunned for a moment but than his mind catches up and he buckles his hips up, dislodging Mickey for a moment and allowing him to throw in his own punch right into the ex-con temple. Mickey sees stars and tips to the side, almost falling off the big man. Martinez rolls away and tries to get up on all fours, but Mickey locks his legs around the man’s hips, pulling him back down and they flail around on the floor like some multi-limbed creature. The cop's clearly no novice in dirty fighting - he throws his head back repeatedly, trying to head butt his opponent. Desperately, Mickey grabs at the lose side of the handcuff hanging off his wrist, wraps the chain around Martinez's throat and squeezes. And keeps squeezing as hard as he can, while the cop's trashing against him, until he feels the body against him go limp. Mickey rolls it off him and slowly climbs to his feet; he's breathing like a horse, his wrist is burning where the metal cut in the skin, his temple’s throbbing. The entire fight probably lasted less than five minutes. 

Still panting, he quickly grabs the fallen piece of paper with the house plan, draws his gun and sneaks out of the room. It's deadly quiet around - lunch long passed, too early to start on the dinner. It takes him a moment to find the back door - it's not fucking where it's supposed to be. He pulls it open, just a thrift of the way and peaks out, mindful of the cameras above. At first, he can't even see Wade and his heart does a double take. He looks up to the camera doing a 180 of the surrounding area at the steady pace. Suddenly, just as the device focus starts turning away, there is a movement on his right and the DEA agents sprints towards the door, quicker than Mickey's ever seen anyone move.

"The fuck took you so long" Wade whispers angrily as soon as he makes it inside

"Your map sucks" retorts Mickey 

"Martinez?" The DEA agent looks around

Mickey motions to his temple "Had to keep him quiet"

"Shit!" Wade frowns "Plan B?"

"What Plan B?" Mickey scowls "Ramirez guys are about to discover him right now"

"And they'll think you escaped so they'll start looking for you. That's just a distraction and you are not risking getting your fingernails pulled"

"Just being shot in the ass" mocks Mickey "Where is the fucking office?" 

Wade motions towards the stairs leading up at the back of the house

"Well, try not to die of boredom up there"

 

***

Back when Mickey was a real kid and just learning the depth of his father's temper what sometimes saved him and his brothers from a good beating down was dispersing in different directions. It was not organised, wasn't intentional and back then Mickey would have rather Colin or Joey stayed with him rather than taking off. But the truth is that faced with four kids running in different directions sometimes all that Terry could do was roar in drunken rage and give up.

Mickey uses the same principle here. He leaves the back door open and heads the way he came; makes it back just in time to see Ramirez go into the cell, flanked by half a dozen of his lackeys. The next second it's like the entire place suddenly becomes alive - people shouting, the sound of the slamming doors, heavy boots hitting the ground. Ramirez's guys run out of the cell and freeze - three ways to go, which one should they choose. 

Mickey turns around and runs towards the back of the house, knowing that at least part of the group will head in the same direction. He's wearing light tennis shoes that make barely any sound on the floor compared to the heavy boots of the cartel guys.

He makes it about halfway and then drops down behind one of the columns. 

"Come on, fuckers" he murmurs and less than 30 seconds later a group of cartel thugs bursts into the hall. 

Mickey opens fire immediately, empties half of his magazine in rapid succession and then turns off running towards the backdoor. Just before reaching the backdoor he stops again, waits his chasers out and opens another line of fire. He can hear more footsteps following behind the first group, static over radio and shouts. He rolls into the kitchen and crawls to the other side of the house, where he suspects the second group went. It doesn't take him long to find them and he repeats the sequence - shoot, run, shoot again, re-load, move along the perimeter. 

The third group is the easiest to find and they are the most ferocious. They don't give themselves a moment to find their bearings, just start shooting at him like crazy. 

Which is when Mickey realises his mistake. The cartel thugs might be stupid enough to believe they were chasing him, but Ramirez wasn't. By now, he must have realised two things - even though Mickey had ample opportunities to leave he was still inside the house after 10 minutes of fighting and he had way more clips than he could have stolen off the cop. 

Mickey sprints back, along the perimeter, towards the back stairs; makes it up the stairs two at the time, trying to remember urgently where Wade said the study was. By the time he makes it to the top he's painting like a horse and totally disoriented, so he just takes a random turn right and right around the corner... 

Ramirez himself stands at the entrance of a room, his gun hand extended. Mickey doesn't think, doesn't process what's happening - he just raises his own gun, takes a step forward and starts shooting. The drug lord stumbles back, then again and finally falls, clutching at his knee. Wade bursts out of the office, his own gun ablaze and rushes towards Mickey.

"The fuck took you so long?" Mickey pants as they roll down the stairs, but he doesn't get to hear the answer - the moment they hit the ground level, they encounter a wave of bullets flying their way.

"Fuck!" Wade rolls away easily towards the kitchen and Mickey follows, far less gracefully. He manages to push the door closed with his foot as he scrambles inside

"Fuck!" He shouts again and moves his legs out of the way of the falling fridge just in time. Both Americans fall down on the other side of the appliance; bullets are already cutting through the thick wood of the door. 

"Thanks" pants Wade finally and Mickey flips him off angrily 

"Now what, GI Joe? How are we getting out of this mess?"

"Fuck if I know?" Wade is clutching his ribs "but I managed to send the files, so whatever happens it wasn't in vain"

"Big fucking relief" Mickey throws back. They look around, between the second door leading towards the other wing and the windows. Then they look back at each other. Wade pulls out Martinez car keys. 

"I go first" he motions towards the window "You cover me"

Mickey nods and reloads his gun, crawls to the window and presses himself flat on the side. Heavy blinds cover the window and there is barely anything he can see. Wade mirrors his position on the either side, glances briefly outside and back at Mickey. 

"Don't fucking shoot me by mistake" he warns and Mickey flips him off automatically. And then before the ex-con can blink the DEA agent throws himself out of the window. A storm of shots rings out from the side and Mickey just answers back, not aiming for any precision, just hoping his bullets at least reach their target. He wants to see where Wade landed, but he doesn't get a chance because the next moment the kitchen door shatters sending the printers all over the room. Mickey doesn't think, he just follows his instinct and howls himself over the window.

It's like jumping into a ring of fire. He lands painfully on his back, all air rushing from his lungs, feels the bullets hitting the ground all around him, the sound of the gunfire like a knife to his eardrums. Blind and deaf, he rolls away into some bushes, curls onto himself. He can't move, can't breathe, fear paralysing him for the first time since they crossed the compound.

" _I'm going to die here"_  he thinks desperately  _”I'm not going to make it"_

"I don't _want_ to die" and the thought is a surprise because from the moment he crossed the border, the only thing that he really cared about was not going back to prison. But now...

" _I do not want to fucking die_ " he thinks clearly, lets the thought take root "I am not _going_ to fucking die!"

He forces himself to lift his head just a mil limited if the ground, but that's enough to see a corner of Wade's booth on his right. There is a narrow line of bush leading to the place and one has to be insane to...

" _I don't want to fucking die!_ " Mickey thinks and starts crawling, fast-fast-fast. The hard bush and cactus scrap against his abdomen, but he ignores it, just keeps crawling, until there is a hand on his shoulder hauling him forward, behind the small decorative wall.

And Mickey can breathe and there are bullets flying all around them, but none of it fucking matters because he's alive, he's _alive_.

"You hit?" Wade asks and it takes Mickey a second to run a mental check on his own body. He shakes his head

"You?" He doesn't recognise his voice, sees a line of red dripping down the DEA's leg. One of his cheeks is scratched and bleeding heavily as well. 

"Just a flesh wound" Wade shrugs before turning around quickly and firing two rapid shots towards their attackers. No point wasting the bullets, they just need to keep them at bay until...

"What now?" Asks Mickey. There is probably an entire cartel between them and Martinez car

"I don't know!" The world around them is filled with noise of bullets hitting the ground, cutting through the metal, closer and closer to their hiding spot.

"I need to think" the DEA presses lower

"We are not going to fucking survive for you to think!" Mickey shouts angrily, even though that's exactly what he's trying to do himself - think, think, think!

Wade opens his mouth and then freezes, his gaze turning to the distance, to the point where sloppy hills meet the back of the property.

"What the fuck is that?" He asks slowly as if afraid he's seeing a mirage. 

Mickey follows his gaze and his mouth falls open. They watch dumbfounded as a huge red truck speeds towards the gates of the property and crashes at full speed, metal bending and screeching under the monster wheels of the car. 

Having defeated the gates, the truck speeds towards the house, meeting to obtrusion from the distracted guards. Mickey can see Hector's sombrero shake on his head, but as usual some magical force keeps it from falling off. 

"That's fucking Santa Claus" Mickey whispers disbelievingly. 

The car continues to speed towards them across the brown field, a cloud of dirt surrounding it. For a second it feels like the entire cartel is too shocked by the sight - the sound of the gunfire slows down behind their back before coming full force at the red truck. 

"Come on!" They make a mad dash forward towards the house. They roll behind the corner of the terrace just in time. 

"He's not going to make it!" Wade whispers as they see the bullets shatter the front window of the truck.

"Like hell!" Mickey shouts back and the next moment Hector does a 180 turn, the car sledding in the dirt and raising a cloud of orange dust. The red truck emerges from it, rear first, a steady rain of shots coming from the bed. 

 _"Martinez must have had a semi-automatic in his house"_ Mickey thinks fleetingly 

"30 seconds" Wade shouts and Mickey nods "As soon as it reaches the house corner" 

They count almost simultaneously and then almost simultaneously jump and start running. 

It's about 30 meters distance. Wade covers it in just about five seconds because he's a fucking trained law enforcement officer. Mickey covers it in just about five seconds because he wants to live; really fucking wants to live. He can see his own fingers reaching for the rail, when someone punches him in the right shoulder from behind. It feels like a light punch, but for some reason it forces him forward and sideways and his side hits the car painfully, before something - someone - lifts him up and in.

"Mickey!" Miguel shouts in his face and Mickey winces, barely able to hear him over the revving of the engine. Who the fuck punched him? And has he lost his gun? His hand feels empty... It's that damn floor jostling around under him...

"Mickey, you've been hit!" 

Nonsense, Mickey thinks, he's been shot before and it felt nothing like that. But then why is everything getting so blurry? The sounds are dying out as well and Miguel face slowly transforms in front of him.  

"First time I catch a bullet not because of you" Mickey says lazily and smiles at the halo of red hair and green eyes.

"What?" Ian's voice sounds completely wrong  "Mickey, you need to hold on!" 

He is fine, completely fine - it's just that it's difficult to breath for some reason. 

"I wish you would have come with me" Mickey says dreamily; something gurgles in his throat unpleasantly. Ian's lips are moving, but he can't hear a word he's saying "Beach, tequila, sandals... it's so fucking good, man..."

And now his eyes are closing and the noise is coming back, only this time it's different. Sounds like choppers... maybe Ian tried to steal another chopper? But no, Ian's here, with him, safe and healthy.

"I love you" He whispers before the darkness overwhelms him.

 

***

3 thousand miles up north Ian wakes up screaming again.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian squeezes his eyes tightly against the onslaught of memories. He knows why. He should have always known why. Mickey went to prison for 15 years for him. Mickey has suffered and sacrificed and fought for him. Mickey did nothing but love him with all his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not 100% happy with how this turned out, but it is still one of my favourite chapters :).

_Chicago, early November_

 

***

For two days after Debbie's unplanned revelation, Ian walks around in what can only be described as zombie like state. He barely sleeps, he barely eats and he can't switch his brains off the question that's he hasn't bothered to think about ever before. 

_"What happened? What happened? What happened?"_

He thinks he's going to go mad if he doesn't get the answer. The problem is that there is no one he can fucking ask about it. 

He turns to internet, trying to find any details about the case from two years ago. But two Southsiders trying to kill each other is not exactly a ground-breaking story, it gets a two inch paragraph in some local online paper. Ian googles "Mickey Milkovich" - finds an open arrest warrant and plea for information on the federal marshal's website, but nothing else. It's a relief and a disappointment at the same time. 

He goes to the Milkovich house, hoping to catch Iggy or Colin, but the place is empty. It doesn't exactly look abandon, but the door's closed and the window's shut. Ian waits for three hours on the porch, not really noticing the cold and the wind, before giving up. Next day the same thing happens.

"They are not here" a passer-by, an old lady tells him 

"Do you know when they are going to be back?"

She shrugs, eyes him suspiciously.

"The big nasty one doesn't live here anymore" Ian guesses she means Colin, unless it's Joey or some cousin "And the one with the floppy hair disappears for a week or so usually"

She eyes him suspiciously.

"I thought they stopped with this shit" she shakes her head "Don't do it, kid, you are too pretty to become a junkie"

Ian guesses her suspicions are fair. He does look like a new junkie - twitchy, hasn't slept in a while, determined to get his next fix. Still, the implication stings and wakes him up a little bit. 

With Milkovich brothers gone, he has only one other person to go to.

 

***

The first thing Mickey sees upon waking up is white ceiling with a slowly revolving fan. It takes him awhile to get his bearings - his shoulder hurts like a bitch, his mind's all foggy and limbs heavy.

The room is quiet, save for beeping of the instruments, but when Mickey turns his head to the right he's not particularly surprised to see Antonio perched on an uncomfortable looking hospital chair.

"The fuck's happened?" He asks, the sound coming from his mouth barely resembling real speech

"You've been shot" the Guerrero patriarch supplies helpfully "But you are going to be all right. The bullet passed a quarter of an inch from your heart. They had to operate on you to get it out"

"How long was I out?" Mickey asks 

"About 36 hours" Antonio voice is calm and soothing "They kept you under morphine to help your pain level"

Mickey takes a moment to process, makes his brain go 36 hours back to replay the last moments he remembers

"How the hell did we get out of there?" He asks because it should not have been possible. Even if they managed to escape the compound the entire cartel must have been on their tails.

"The way Miguel tells it, DEA arrived on the scene just as you were escaping" Mickey remembers the sound of helicopters, not his imagination after all.

"Shit!" He murmurs and Antonio nods like it's the most natural reaction to being saved.

"They are still in the compound" Antonio continues "Collecting evidence, rounding up people. They already sent Ramirez to Mexico City. The local police department has been suspended; there are federal guys taking over" 

"So, what? Cartel's fucking dead?" Mickey asks disbelievingly 

"So, it seems" Antonio nods and there is something in his face expression that Mickey can't quite read. It's happy, tired, distrustful, hopeful. Fucking cartel is fucking gone...The thought feels surreal in his own head. It has implications, he knows... a shitload of implications. He just needs to make his brain work...

"I need..." His mouth isn't working right.

"Go to sleep, Mickey" Antonio says firmly, puts his heavy palm on the young man's shoulder "You need to get your strength back. Nobody's going to touch you here"

Mickey doesn't remember when it became easy to trust people. 

Next time Mickey wakes up it's dark outside and Miguel is sitting next to his bed.

"How are you? Are you in pain?" The young man leans over him and Mickey frowns "What do you need?"

"For you to shut up" murmurs the ex-con. He feels better, stronger, the fog slowly dissipating from his bed. He gives his friend a one-over. Miguel looks healthy and unhurt; 

"You are a lucky bastard" He smiles at Mickey "I thought you were going to die in my arms"

Mickey snorts at the drama.

"Me? I'm not the one who launched an attack on the fucking cartel compound!" 

"It was Hector's idea!" Miguel grins mischievously.

"Yeah? And who fucking told him about it?" 

"We couldn't just do nothing, Mickey" Miguel says somewhat more serious "And we survived" he grins mischievously "Even the trunk's ok! The fucking thing is indestructible!" 

"Tell me what happened" Mickey asks and Miguel does. 

He tells him about helicopters arriving as they were leaving the compound; about what looked like a hundred men descending on the ground all around them; about the chaos and arm fire that he didn't get to witness because he and Hector were rushing Mickey to the hospital.

"Apparently, they are all Wade's team. He stayed behind to help them, but I've seen him here in the hospital later on, he looked all right. He asked about you"

"I bet" Mickey closes his eyes "Have the rest of the DEA been around?" 

"No, they are still at the compound" 

Both men stay silent for a while, before Mickey sighs.

"Then I guess it's a goodbye" Miguel nods, his eyes sad. The young Guerrero places his palm on his shoulder, a gesture so similar to his brothers, Mickey wants to smile.

"We'll take care of everything, ok? But tomorrow; now you rest"

 

***

Ian stands in front of the door for five minutes before he gathers enough courage to push it open. The insides of Alibi welcome him with the familiar semi-darkness, smell of cheap beer and dust.

The bar is completely empty mid Wednesday morning.

"Hello?" Ian calls hesitantly, hates the tremble in his own voice. There is some rustling in the back room and then Svetlana appears.

"Carrot top? The hell you are doing here?" She grins at him with that not-really-a-smile of hers, quick and sarcastic like she's just seen something morbidly funny.

Ian stares. When was the last time they were in the same room? Not since Fiona's failed wedding... Guilt cuts through him. They lived door to door next to each other for a year and he never bothered to even say hi. Svetlana looks like Svetlana, beautiful strong features, straight back, no-nonsense written in every expression. He used to hate her for it so much, for being beautiful, for forcing herself into Mickey's life.

"Hey" he swallows "How have you been?" 

Svetlana let's a half laugh, short and disbelieving and grabs a dishcloth. 

"What do you want, Carrot Top?" She asks bluntly and starts cleaning the bar. Ian fights the desire to run.

"I... I need to talk to you" he explains. Svetlana continues to clean the counter

"So, talk" she doesn't even glance at him. 

"It's about Mickey" That gets her attention. She freezes for a second and looks up to stare at him - God, Ian forgot how heavy her gaze could be - and this time it's not a laugh, it's a snort. Ian forces himself to continue.

"About what happened two years ago... about Mickey's sentence"

"Nothing to talk about" Svetlana goes back to cleaning "he tries to kill someone, he gets caught, he goes to jail. Stupid" 

"Was there a trial?" Ian presses 

"No. He made a deal" she doesn't venture any other information 

"Why would he do it? Was there evidence? Witnesses?" Ian presses

Svetlana stops and puts a hand on her hip. 

" _Now_  you want to know?" She laughs, not a fun laugh, but cruel loud sound "I have to pay you to visit him and now you want to know?" 

"I just..." Ian swallows "I learned something... About what happened... And I want to know whether this is why Mickey got such a long sentence. Why he agreed to a deal" 

Svetlana stares at him, her expression turning serious, almost angry. 

"Why? Svetlana parrots " _You_  don't know why?" She sighs and looks straight at Ian "He throws his wife out of the bedroom - you don't know why? He keeps a crazy in the same house as his baby - you don't know why? He abandons his son to take care of the crazy man - you don't know why? He goes to prison and leaves us to fend for ourselves - you don't know why?"  

Svetlana's voice is controlled, matter-of-factly, but to Ian each word feels like he's being hit with a car. He thinks about those months after his diagnosis - Mickey never leaving his side; the fog in his head through which no thoughts of Svetlana and Yevgeny even penetrated. Shame and guilt - his trusted companions these days - attack his insides with double force. He can't speak, can just stare at Svetlana as she lets out another laugh and goes back to cleaning the bar.

"I..." he swallows "I'm sorry" it sounds flimsy, empty to his own ears "I... I was sick back then" 

Suddenly Svetlana turns on him, her eyes burning, all the control and calm gone.

"Sick?! Did you need someone to feed you, warm you, put you to bed every night? My son - he was helpless! You were not. But he chose you like that" she snaps her fingers "He always chose you like that" another snap "and you, you forget us like that too" another snap; Ian shudders, feels dangerously close to tears. 

"I had to find another home for my son!" Svetlana's eyes turn to somewhere faraway "I thought he has family now. I help, I bring money, I take care of them. But they forget too"

She turns her gaze back at him; it reminds him of that day when she ambushed him in the shower armed with a hammer and desperate courage.

"You still don't know why jail bird went to jail? Hmm? Your blonde bitch of the sister started blabbing about the little red one and the police offered him the deal. Plead guilty to the murder and they don't touch her. He took it, but of course you don't know why"

It's like someone hit him with a truck. The entire room slides out of focus; his ears fill with white noise, he can't breathe.

 _"The only reason I ended up in jail is because of your sister"_ said Mickey. Ian thought he meant Sammi, Ian didn't think anything...

Svetlana, meanwhile, has gone back to her work, ignoring him like she's done. Done with him, with this conversation. And Ian can't stay here for another second. 

He turns and runs, out of the bar, down the road. The cold Chicago autumn air burns his lungs; he can barely see where he's going because of the tears in his eyes. But it's got nothing on the fire destroying him from inside. 

 _Mickey_ \- he runs... 

 _Mickey_ \- brutal force and combative spirit, rude words and no-bullshit attitude. Ian runs.... 

 _Mickey_ \- small lopsided smile, happiness crinkling in impossibly blue eyes, sinful lips. 

 _Mickey_ \- strong embrace holding him together, surprising softness in rough hands, tender care. 

Ian runs and runs and runs...

He only stops because he must, because his legs give out underneath him and he stumbles, almost falls down, catches himself in the last minute on wall. 

Not a wall. A column - he's underneath the L, that neighbourhood lifeline, where so many things happened. It's completely deserted on a cold November morning. He feels like he's going to be sick, presses close to the column to stay upright. 

_"I will be doing a lot of people a favour, including you!"_

_"I want everyone to know that I'm a fucking Moe"_

_"He's staying here, with me"_

_"Can I go with him?"_

_"I'm sorry I'm late"_

_"Hey, it's all right. It's all right. Let's get you ready"_

_"Ian, run"_

_"It means for better or worse. It means we take care of each other"_

Ian squeezes his eyes tightly against the onslaught of memories. He knows _why_. He should have always known why. 

Mickey went to prison for 15 years for him. Mickey has suffered and sacrificed and fought for him. Mickey did nothing but love him with all his heart. 

And when it came to it, Ian abandoned the man he claimed to love. 

 

***

When Miguel said that Guerreros would take care of everything Mickey didn't expect to see Regina entering his hospital room the next morning.

"You look so much better" she smiles gently at him. Mickey feels better, still tired and weak but less like a newborn baby. 

"I brought you clothes and other things" Regina passes him his backpack that looks like it belongs to Jorge. 

"Other things" end up being his fake documents, his cash, his gun, new ammunition, a couple of burner phones and his car keys. 

"Miguel parked your car near the back entrance" Regina says quietly and Mickey tries to ignore the way her voice trembles

"Here" she passed him another packet "I put together some medicine, antibiotics, gauge, painkillers. You need to keep the wound very clean. Cover it when you travel, but let it breathe as well..." 

"Regina" Mickey reaches out to put his hand over her arm and she falls silent " _Thank you_ " 

Regina's eyes fill with tears, she covers his hand with her own.

"Thank you for everything" Mickey repeats "You did more..."

"No" Antonio's wife interiors him suddenly "No goodbyes! You are not leaving forever, are you? We'll see each other soon enough"

Mickey entertains this thought for a moment - waiting the DEA out, coming back once things calmed down, getting the life he started to build here back... He stomps on the thought brutally - nothing good ever came out of him dreaming. Even if Wade keeps silent, he's on a dozen camera shots from the compound; the only thing they'll have to do to find his name is reference to Chicago, his connection with Russian mafia and rough timeline of his arrival in Mexico. And once they do, his face will make its way in the local police system. 

But Regina's looking at him hopefully and, what does it matter, if he lies to her now? So, he doesn't object, just nods and squeezes her hand. 

"Call Miguel when you are ready to leave" she asks "he is staying at your place. He wants to drive you part of the way at least until you get stronger" Mickey nods again, another lie...

The doctor who examines him during the round seems very pleased with his progress and promises a discharge in a couple of days. Mickey spends day alternating between exercising his arm and legs and sleeping. And when the night falls he gets ready.

 

***

"They discharged you in the middle of the night?" 

Mickey sighs and turns around, not particularly surprised at being caught as soon as he is out the back door.

Wade, sneaky bastard, leans against the hospital wall, smoking. Mickey would kill for a smoke right now, Regina's too health conscious to put cigarettes in his escape pack. 

"They are running out of beds" he quips and looks around. Except for the two of them the yard is silent and he can't exactly imagine a federal marshal lying in the bushes for his sake. 

"The fuck are you doing here?" Wade smirks

"Would you believe me if I said I was just out for a smoke?" 

Mickey shrugs, it wouldn't be that farfetched - not with the luck he's been having lately. 

"Well, was nice seeing you" He puts his healthy hand in the pocket, not too discreetly. The DEA agent is wearing shorts and flip flops and there's a thick bandage on his thigh, so escape wise Mickey evaluates his chances of pretty high. 

"Going far?" Wade sounds like they are a pair of acquaintances chatting. Mickey shoots him a glare and turns around. 

"Because, I thought you were pretty settled here, that with so many people visiting and.."

"What  _the fuck_ do you want?" Mickey whirls back angrily, ignores the pain shooting through his shoulder. He's weak as a kitten, and sad and has nowhere to go… and if that prick will continue taunting him for one more second...

"I want to help you, Mickey" Wade opens his palms peacefully "If you help me"

"Yeah, we've already done it" Mickey bares his teeth in bitter smile "And here I am..."

"Running away because federal marshals have a 50k reward on your head for escaping prison" Wade finishes and Mickey feels something akin to relief. 

"And they haven't even raised the price" He snorts; stands still, legs spread wide, upper body inclined forward - ready to fight, now that the games are over. 

"You are not exactly unique, Mr Milkovich" Wade's posture still relaxed and calm "Plenty of fugitives hiding from the law around here" 

"Or at least, you were not unique" He shifts and Mickey tenses "Not every fugitive saves a federal agents life and helps to bring down a narco cartel" 

"If you think I have developed enough sense of civil responsibility to hand myself in, you need to think again" Mickey growls and the DEA agent smirks

"I'm a government agent, not an idiot" He shakes his head "I told you I want to help you"

"We got a lot of evidence against Ramirez in the compound. But you see I got a problem. Courts like witnesses"

"Good for you" Mickey shifts his back "You can testify to your heart's content" 

"That wouldn't be enough. Not unless you testify with me" 

Mickey freezes for a second and then picks his bag up from the ground.

"I need to go" he turns towards the car 

"Full pardon" Wade says and the words cut through the air like a knife. Mickey swallows and throws the American a sarcastic glance.

"Yeah, guaranteed by whom?"

"Me" Wade takes a step forward "DEA. Federal judge. You testify against Ramirez and I get you the pardon papers. You can be back to Chicago the next day. Or you can stay here and not have to fear anything ever again" 

"Thanks, but no thanks" Mickey walks to the car. 

"You don't want to run, Mickey, not from this place" Wade's voice is loud enough to carry across the yard "You are not a runner"

"Don't pretend you know fuck all about me" Mickey throws over his shoulder and grips the door handle

"I know that I'm alive because of you" Wade hovers behind "And I can recognise a fighter when I see one. You don't want to run" he repeats "you don't  _have_  to run"

The air is warm and smells of spices, the birds are singing, Mickey can swear that he can hear the ocean. And somewhere 3000 miles to the north... 

Mickey pulls at the door handle. 

 

***

He shouldn't be surprised to find Trevor outside his apartment door. But in the last week he sort of ... he forgot that Trevor exists.

"Hey" His boyfriend (are they still together...? Ian can't say he cares) starts and his smile is a little shy and a little strained at the same time. 

Ian stops. He doesn't want to do it now. He can't do it now. 

"I thought we should finally talk" Trevor is using his councillor voice and God why did Ian never realised how grating it is? 

He's drained and tired and the only thing that he wants is to make it to his bed and collapse.

"Nothing to talk about" he says quietly and walks past Trevor. The brunette walks into his way; angry and determined look on his eyes.

"Look, Ian, I know you are angry. But it's been over the week, enough for you to think it through" he seeks his gaze "We can't continue like that. I'm hurt too, but I'm willing to make the first step"

"You disappeared for a week, Ian!"

Ian stares at him for a moment. Truth is... there was not a single minute in the last week when his thoughts turned to Trevor. And for the first time in their relationships the redhead tells the truth to himself. 

"It doesn't matter" 

"What?" Trevor looks hurt "What do you mean it doesn't matter? We need to talk if we are to make it work" 

Ian looks away and Trevor's face fills with disbelief; he takes a half-step back and stares.

"Are you breaking up with me?" He asks incredulously. Ian shrugs and starts walking towards the door.

"Are you serious?" His now ex-boyfriend turns around angrily "You pursue me for months! You convince me to forgive you! And what now - you suddenly don't love me anymore"

Slowly Ian turns around and there must be something in his face... Trevor's eyes grow wide and hurt.

"Have you  _ever_  loved me?" He half-whispers

And there is nothing rational in blaming Trevor for how Ian is feeling right now; but he's too angry, exhausted and full of self-hatred to restrain himself.

"No" he says honestly "I didn't. I don't" he uses Trevor's shock to circle around him. There are three steps left till his door.

"You told me you came back for me! You told me you missed me!"

Trevor shouts, raw and hurt, and Ian sees red. He turns around rapidly.

"I didn't come back for you!" He shouts "I came back because I was a fucking coward! A fucking coward who couldn't sacrifice a bit of comfort and security for someone I love! I came back because I thought my life" he lets out a sarcastic snort "was too important here!" 

Trevor takes a step back, either scared of Ian's fury or just deeply hurt. 

"So, I was what? A placeholder? A distraction?" Ian's silence is clearly enough of an answer "I can't believe it!" 

"And so, what now? You are going to go to Mexico? Run to your criminal ex-boyfriend? Beg for his forgiveness? Live happily ever after? Or until he goes to prison again?"

"Shut up!" Ian shouts "shut the fuck up!"

"No worries!" Trevor raises his hands in mock surrender "I am leaving" He stares at Ian long and hard, that disappointed expression on his face "I thought I knew who you were, I thought you were one of us. Clearly, I was mistaken. Goodbye, Ian. Have a nice life!"

Trevor's been a part of his life for more than a year. It’s strange to realize that Ian feels nothing but relief watching him leave his life forever. 

 

***

Ian falls into his bed; wonders for a moment at the bone-deep exhaustion and tiredness. Is it a depressive episode coming into him? Will he be able to get out of the bed tomorrow morning? 

But, no... If it was a start of the episode, he wouldn't feel the pain so sharply. He wouldn't feel like something is cutting him from within; like he can literally choke on guilt, despair and longing. 

_"So, what now?" Trevor's voice resonates in his head "You going to run to your ex-boyfriend?"_

A sob raises somewhere deep inside him. The last week, running around, searching for answers - he forgot the most important part. Mickey is lost to him; he can't find him or apologize to him or tell him he loves him... Mickey is somewhere out there, hopefully ( _oh please, please, God, please_ ) free and happy. And Ian will never see him again. 

"Mick" he calls softly, the name like a prayer on his lips. It feels like praying. "Mickey, I love you" It hurts, oh God, how it hurts "Mickey, I miss you so much, so much" 

And he can't hold the tears back any more; can only curl on his side and try to hold himself together. And a small weak part of him hopes that he won't be able to get out of bed the next morning. 

 

***

He manages to get out of the bed the next morning. And the morning after...Mostly because he doesn't really sleep.

It takes some time - open his eyes, stare at the ceiling... pain - check, exhaustion - check, mind filled with nightmares - check. Time to get up and face the fucking world. 

It's not depression - he is capable of moving, thinking, wanting ( _oh, God, why can't he stop wanting?!_ ). Most days he has more than enough energy to go around his days - make breakfast, go to work, exercise, study. He's become a pro at faking a semblance of normalcy in the last couple of years, anyway. Some days he has so much energy that he gets worried. But it feels nothing like mania, either - there is nothing happy in how he feels, nothing high. 

And it's easier now than it was in the spring. Because at the end of the day he can come back to his apartment, sit down on the sofa and just... exist. Nobody would him what he's doing, nobody would notice if he hasn't had dinner or hasn't made bed for two days. Nobody would be there on those days when he's crawling out of his skin and every little thing irritates the hell out of him. 

It's harder than it was in the spring because he doesn't have any delusions anymore. It's  _not_  going to get better, he knows now; he's not going to go back to normal. This... this mess in his head - of love, longing, guilt, regrets - is what he's going to live with for the rest of his life. 

So every evening he goes to sleep, hoping that he won't be able to get out of the bed in the morning, won't feel anything, won't want anything. 

 

***

He runs into Fiona at Patty's. It's been awhile since he stepped by the diner. Every time he visits he can't get the image of Mandy's face out of his mind, forget the last desperate hug and letting go. 

But he promised to meet with Lip for coffee and these days his brother doesn't have a lot of time between school and work, so Ian accommodates to his needs.

"Ian?!" his sister hugs him "Gosh, I've not seen you in a while!"

It's true, these days they rarely see each other more than every two-three weeks and only in passing. When Ian stops to pick up mail that still occasionally makes its way to the old house or when Debbie or Liam need something. 

"Yeah" he nods and forces a smile on his face "sorry, too busy with work and exams" Fiona nods sympathetically "Lip's around?"

"In the back, just finishing off some staff" Fiona smiles in return "Come on, sit down, I'll get you a coffee. You look good!" She comments in passing. 

Maybe he does, Ian thinks, he hasn't really looked at himself in the mirror that closely lately, but he's been exercising like crazy this week and it's not like he has a lot of appetite.

"How have you been?" He asks once Fiona pours them both a coffee and leans against the counter.

"Busy! The apartment is a mess, something is always going wrong. And Frank has been no help with Liam lately so... you know"

It's Ian's turn to nod sympathetically. 

"What exams were you talking about?" Fiona asks and Ian freezes for a second - has he never mentioned it?

"I'm applying to be full paramedic" he explains "I'll have to pass another exam, sometime in December before I qualify"

"Wow!" Fiona looks at him pleased and he can't help but feel a steer of pleasure somewhere inside at his sister’s approval "Why didn't you tell me before? We should celebrate! It's turning such an amazing year for Gallaghers!"

Her words cut through him like a knife.

"How is Debbie?" He asks to change the topic and because he's not talked with his sister in a while either. It's not that he blames her for what happened. It's just that he is not quite sure how to handle it.

"She's good!" Fiona nods "Therapy's helping and she finally got Medicaid to cover for the rest of it"

"Any luck on the job?"

"She's got welding stuff every once in a while but that's difficult with her leg" Fiona smiles "but I'm hoping that once V gets the salon sorted out Debbie can moonlight there between gigs"

"Hmm" Ian nods "Wait, what salon?"

"Oh, you don't know" Fiona almost jumps in excitement.

"You know V's mom is working at that salon? It belongs to two nice ladies and she mostly does all the work. Well one of the owners has just died and she left her part to V's mum. Another is about to retire, so the plan is for V to buy it out and manage it together" she tops his coffee "Cool, ah?" 

"Where would she get the money from?" Ian asks

"Oh, they are selling the Alibi. Or at least their part of it" Fiona shrugs 

"They are selling the Alibi?" Ian repeats in disbelief "What is Kev going to do?"  

"He's got this private car service gig that he really loves. Plus, he'll be spending lots of time with the kids" Fiona rings another bell "Alibi is a disaster, they can barely keep it afloat. And it's late nights and drunk idiots - with the girls growing up, they need more stability"

It does sound logical, even though last year Alibi was doing well when... 

"What about Svetlana?" He asks in panic "What is she going to do?"

"Go fuck herself, hopefully" Fiona smiles carelessly "She can try to buy it out or she can continue running it with the new owner. V and Kev's are done taking her shit" she shuts the cash machine forcefully. 

Ian opens his mouth to respond, but Lip uses this exact moment to slap him on his back.

"Hey, man, sorry I'm late!" He flops down on the chair "Can I have coffee, Fi? And a burger? I hadn't had lunch" he turns to Ian "you want to stay here or go find a table? Ian?" 

It takes a few seconds for Ian's brain to switch from thoughts about Svetlana. He follows his brother to the table in the corner. Lip looks good. He looks alive, energized, full of sparkle. He looks happier and more comfortable in his skin than ever before. 

For a moment old jealousy cuts through Ian. He grew up in the comfort of Lip's shadow, his seniority, smarts and survival skills. But as much as Ian loves his brother and is sure his childhood would have been much more miserable without him... A part of him has always resented being second best, wearing only hand me downs, being less... important, less noticed, not as smart. And none of this mattered quite as much lately, when Lip was a recovering alcoholic and Ian was playing at being happy. But seeing him now... the contrast is too much with his own messed up miserable life.

But he's much better at faking normalcy and hiding resentment than he used to be. Lip talks about college and his projects, about the guys from AA. He shares tidbits of information about himself, a couple of funny stories from work, about exams.

He wants to talk about Mickey and what he learned about the sentence, about... He almost opens his mouth.

"Hey man, mind if I split?” Lip asks "Still have lots of homework" 

"Sure" Ian replies, not knowing whether to be disappointed or relieved "See you later"

 

***

This time it takes him ten minutes standing in the cold wind to gather the courage. Finally, he takes a deep breath and pushes the red door open.

This time though, Svetlana is at the bar and next to her strapped to a tall chair sits Yevgeny. The toddler turns his impossibly blue eyes towards the newcomer and grins happily. Ian's heart stops - Yevy has grown even taller since he last saw him in August. He resembles Mickey even more. 

"What do you want?" In opposite to her son, Svetlana's voice is anything but welcoming.

"I wanted to check how you are doing" says Ian

"Why?" The Russian looks him over sceptically

"I heard Kev and Veronica are trying to sell their share of the bar. I wanted to check that you were doing all right?"

"No, why do you care?" 

It hurts. Ian sucks in a breath and forces himself to stay calm.

"I care about you and Yevy" he says the truth. Svetlana snorts and turns away to arrange the sauces on the tables. That hurts even more. 

"Are you going to buy them out?" He refuses to give up

"How?" She shakes her head "They use my paperwork to show the buyers how good the bar is doing. The price is high. I don't have the money. I need to pay to other people to look after Yevgeny"

"Then what are you going to do?" 

"I will wait for new owner and I will squeeze their tiny balls and I will make them sell it to me"

And there is plenty of anger and determination in her words. But Ian can also see a bit if fear creeping in. More than anything, Svetlana needs to feel in control and whatever comes next... it's as far out of her control as possible.

"I'm sorry" he says "Is there anything I can ...?"

"You can put your sorry in your ass!" Svetlana retorts angrily. The cry resonates through the empty room louder than she intended probably. Yevgeny stops playing with his toys and turns his eyes on them, curious and a little apprehensive. After a second he smiles and grabs one of his toys.

"Mama, here" He stretches his hand towards Svetlana. The woman reaches out to take it.

"Thank you, baby" She whispers softly, voice think with tears. She's alone, Ian realises, she's the only one raising her child. 

"Here!" Yevy turns to him and passes another toy. Tentatively, carefully Ian takes the offering, his fingers brushing against the Yevy's soft skin. 

"Thank you, Yevy" He turns around the ambiguous plush animal in his hand "Who is it, big boy? A dog?" He imitates barking and the toddler laughs joyously "or a pig?" 

They continue playing for a while, Ian acutely aware of Svetlana's eyes on them. She stands frozen on her spot, her expression closed off, guarded. 

"It's time for his afternoon nap" Svetlana says finally reaches for the kid, but Ian is not ready to let go.

"It's all right" He scoops Yevy up protectively "I'll take him" Svetlana shrugs and turns to lead him up the stairs. Yevgeny relaxes completely in Ian's arms playing with the buttons of Ian's shirt sleepily. 

The last time Ian has seen the rooms above the Alibi, they were filled with hookers and make shift beds. He's not sure how, but Svetlana managed to turn the dark bare space into a small cosy apartment. The kitchen looks new, the walls are freshly painted and it's decorated with cheap but comfy furniture. The floors are covered with toys and children books. 

"Nice place" Ian comments lightly and Svetlana shoots him a suspicious look "I'm serious" he reassures her. 

"Yes, I like it" her tone is neutral, but Ian can recognize the longing in it, maybe because he is so filled with it himself. It will be difficult for Svetlana to lose it. 

"Here" she guides Ian towards a small room with a cot and they tackle Yevy in

"I could help you watch him, you know?" Ian says quietly while Yevgeny burrows under the covers. Svetlana motions him out of the room "As much as you need. It'll save you some money. And I could lend you some cash as well. Maybe you can get a loan and..."

"No" The Russian whispers firmly 

"Lana, please" Ian whispers "I know I screwed up before, but I'm on the meds now, I'm good...."

For a moment it seems like she might relent, her expression softening, but then it turns tough again. 

"You figured out why, yet?" She asks mockingly and Ian freezes. 

"I know you, Carrot Top. You start with helping out, get everybody to love you, to rely on you and then you forget" she shakes her head "I won't be paying you to visit anybody again" 

"Lana, I..." 

But she won't change her mind, he knows, can see it in her eyes, in the stubborn set of her jaw. He could out-stubborn most people, he knows. But not here, not when Svetlana knows just how much he fucked up.

"Please call me if you need anything, ok?" He asks before leaving, but knows she won't.

 

***

"Hey, you all right?" Sue asks him during their evening shift.

"Yeah..." Ian nods "Yeah, I'm good, just tired"

She looks at him sideways, halfway between suspicious and concern.

"You sure, kid? You've been all over the place lately" 

Ian looks up at her worriedly. 

"What do you mean? Have I been doing something wrong?" He worries that the fog that appears occasionally in his head has started to spill over into his life.

"Relax, you are still the golden boy of the EMT" Sue mocks him gently "It's just you look as if someone killed your puppy. Or shoved something very big and uncomfortable up your ass. Looked like that for weeks I swear"

So, there is one person he didn't manage to convince, Ian thinks. He shakes his head.

"I'm good, feeling good, taking my meds" he reassures his partner

"Not what I asked, kid" Sue says "Come on, talk to mama. Is it about your sister? Or trouble in paradise? Have not heard you talk about Me Preachy Cock in a while"

Ian shakes his head at the nickname. She's always been fine with Trevor until he started bringing him around.

For a second he contemplates opening up to Sue, but the thought of trying to explain everything....

"Debbie's good. And Trevor and I broke up actually" he admits 

"What?" Sue turns to him wide open "You broke up with he's-the-best-person-I-know? Or did he dump you?"

Ian shrugs, doesn't pretend to care.

"I guess I dumped him" Sue says nothing "I guess I... I didn't love him"

_"I forgot he existed for a week" he thinks_

"If I dumped every boyfriend I didn't love, I would have spent my 20s celibate" Sue pauses "That's why you are sad?" 

"Yeah" Ian lies "Yeah, a little bit. But I'll be all right; I'll be fine" 

 

***

It's just bad luck.

The call comes on at the end of their shift. A shooting further south, the criminal just apprehended, two wounded, immediate response required.

Sue switches on the siren and floors it. 

They are the first on the scene and the place is a zoo - a couple of police cars parked haphazardly, two bodies on the ground, the curious picking from nearby buildings. Sue heads to the woman screaming in pain and surrounded by the police officers. Ian hurries to the other patient. They are not supposed to do it - it takes two people to treat most gun wounds, but they are the only ones on the scene. Bad luck.

The other patient is a guy - a typical hood youngster - lying in large pool of blood, barely conscious and bleeding profusely. A middle-aged police officer has his hand pressed tightly against his neck.

"He's one of the perpetrators. I fired two shots. I was aiming for the shoulder, but he must have turned. I think I hit the artery" 

For a second Ian freezes. Body spread on the ground, blood everywhere, police officers - it's the stuff of his worst nightmares.  _It's not Mickey_ , it's not Mickey, Mickey is safe somewhere (Oh please, oh please, oh please) - he has to remind himself before he sets out to do his work.

He does everything he can. It's not his first shooting, it's not his first time working separately from Sue. He's five minutes away from being a qualified paramedic. 

But the guy's got a cut artery and a sucking chest wound and his blood won't clog for some reason and the only chance to keep him alive is to get him to the hospital ASAP. 

The guy's name is Ben, Ian coaxes out of him in between painful gasps. He's young and scared and he grasps at Ian's jacket with weak fingers and his gaze is full of primal fear. And his eyes... they are dull brown, nothing like the blue orbs that haunt his dreams. But their expression...Ian's not going to let this kid die. 

The fucking second rig takes three minutes to arrive. When it does the paramedics go to the woman first - she's a woman, she's a victim, she's going into cardiac arrest. And Ian tries... he tries, to hold off the bleeding, to keep the patient conscious. But slowly ( _too quickly, too quickly!_ ) Ben's breathing gets more and more shallow, his face turns blue, his pulse weakens.

By the time Sue transfers her patient into the rig and finally-finally makes it to Ian with the wheeler, Ian's been doing CPR for several minutes.

"Ian" Sue calls him quietly "Ian, stop"

He won't, he won't stop - he won't let Mickey die, not here, not in reality.

"Ian, it's been 10 minutes and he's not responding"

"I'm not letting him die!" Ian growls, doesn't recognize his own voice it's so low and desperate.

"Ian, look around, all his blood is on the outside!" Sue leans forward and shouts "There is not enough left in him to supply his heart"

"No" with horror he realizes that his eyes are feeling with tears "no, he can make it"

"Ian, stop!" Sue puts her hands on top of his on the guys chest. They are covered in blood, her hands; his as well. There is blood everywhere, it's soaking through the fabric of his uniform, it's covering the ground anywhere he can see. Finally, Ian stops his movements, slowly pulls away from the lifeless body in front of him.

"Mickey" He hears, realizes in a second that it's him talking.

"What?" Sue leans over "What are you talking about"

It's not Mickey. Of course, it's not Mickey, Ian knows that! It's not Mickey he had just failed, it's not Mickey he just left to die.

"Nothing" he makes himself say "Nothing"

He does his job. Helps Sue to load the body into the wheeler, drive it to the morgue. It's a police case, they'll take care of everything else. He watches the doors close behind a technician rolling the guy - the guy who used to be called Ben - away. 

It's not Mickey, he tells himself. Mickey is somewhere safe and happy and prosperous. 

" _Oh, God, please, let Mickey be somewhere safe and happy_ ". Because if he's not... if he's not and Ian doesn't even know, won't ever know... if he's not and he had to go thinking that Ian didn't love him, didn't care for him, didn't miss him...

"Ian" Sue's hand is on his shoulder again "Ian, you are hyperventilating" 

He is. He can't breathe and there are tears in his eyes and " _oh, please, please, please_ ". He forces it down. Quickly he turns away and starts running through corridors, out-out- out, away from the broken body and his 

Sue finds him sitting behind a dumpster at the back entrance. He doesn't know how much time has passed, his entire head is foggy, in a bad way. Sue doesn't ask him whether he's all right and Ian appreciates it. He's sitting in his bloodied uniform; his face is tear streaked and his hands are still shaking. He's as far from all right as possible. His partner drops on the ground next to him.

"What's wrong?" Sue asks calmly "And don't give me bullshit about exam stress or break ups or anything" 

He needs to answer, needs to come up with something to explain his behaviour, but he... can't! How could anyone explain the pain, the horror, the longing, the guilt, the fear, the love that he's feeling right now?!?

"Ian, you lost patients before. It's terrible, kid, I know" Sue's voice softens uncharacteristically "But your reaction... it was like you lost a family member. And you... you called the patient Mickey"

And there must be something in his face that clues Sue on just how deep the wound runs:

"Oh, kid..." He squeezes his eyes against her gentleness "Oh, kid I'm sorry" and that's... that's more and more genuine than anyone has said to him since Monica's death. 

"I lost him" Ian admits knowing he doesn't make any sense "I'm losing him every night" He swallows down a sob "I failed him" 

Gently, oh so gently, Sue lays her hand on his shoulder. It's hot, or is it him that's freezing? 

"Oh, kid, it's been a long time" she reminds him gently and Ian squeezes his eyes against the pain "I'm sorry. I didn't know. You hid it so well" 

She doesn't elaborate.  _Hid your pain, your sorrow, the fact that you still love him._ Ian Gallagher - a king of hiding. 

She allows him to sit like that for a while and slowly he feels himself calming down. 

"You are going to go home now, ok?" Now she sounds like Fiona "Have a hot shower, grab something to eat, go to bed. And tomorrow you are going to call in sick and rest for the whole day. No arguments!" She adds sternly "Deal?" 

Ian nods, but doesn't make an attempt to get up. He can't, not now.

"Ian, you need to talk to someone" Sue says "You can't continue like - you are going to break" 

" _I already did_ " Thinks Ian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Ian's falling apart...   
> The biggest part of this chapter for me is Ian and Svetlana. I adore her character and I hate what they've do to her in the last season; and I hate that the show just pretended that Ian and Svet hasn't shared a house for 6 months.   
> I know she comes across pretty brutal in this chapter, but I think Svet, of all people, is pretty justified in being pissed. She started out resenting Ian for obvious reasons - he was a threat to the tiny bit of stability in her life; but their scenes in early season 5 are almost tender and I think she grew very fond of him. And then it all got wrecked... Not Ian's fault, but she can't quite see it this way yet.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a second Ian wonders if he's hallucinating. If the words he's seeing on the screen are real or if they just exist in his imagination. If he has just imagined the entire conversation with Mandy. Because it can't be true. It is too good to be true.

_Late November_

 

***

Mickey's fingers are drumming on the side of the car, right where his hand hangs outside of the window. He can't stop it. 

"Nervous?" Wade asks from the driving seat. 

"Fuck of!" Mickey grits through clenched teeth and is tempted to wipe the smirk of the DEA's agent face with his fist. It is pissing him off. Everything is pissing him off - the cool air blowing through the open window, the endless stretch of the dusty road, the corny Spanish tunes playing on the radio, the presence of two other agents he can feel behind his back.

Mickey was the one who insisted they drive instead of taking a flight. Not for fear of flying - sure he's more comfortable on the solid ground, but he's not a fucking pussy - but because it gives him a sense of control, no matter how false. Here, he always has an escape route, here he can always change his mind, turn back.

He has no fucking idea why Wade tag along. Maybe it's some kind of DEA rule that he stays with Mickey until their final destination, maybe he actually does hate flying. Or maybe he doesn't know what else to do - he's still wearing the cartel clothes, still moves in the same way, still speaks like he's with the cartel. He looks nothing like a pair of his colleagues. Maybe he's almost as lost and scared as Mickey is right now. And Mickey hates to admit that the man's presence is probably the only reason he's not jumped out of the car as soon as they left Mexico City. 

The bastard continues smirking knowingly.

"Fuck off!" Mickey repeats and stares straight ahead. The road stretches in front of them, endless.

 

***

Ian does ask his doctor to give him a reference to a therapist. He does it mostly because he's worried about Sue reporting what happened to Rita (even though he knows deep inside that she won't). But also, because he knows he's going to go insane if he doesn't talk with someone. His insurance isn't bad and it does cover bi-monthly therapy sessions, so he gets an appointment in less than two weeks. 

The therapist he's referred to sits in a fancy office, almost Northside, and she's not what he expects at all. The last one he saw was a shrink in the psych ward and she looked like a doctor. Dr Foster looks like a writer - a cardigan, soft slacks, minimal make up and a messy hair do. She doesn't behave like a doctor either, doesn't ask him "how are you feeling?", "how would you rate your mood today?", doesn't make notes in a large thick chart. 

"Why don't you tell me what's happening in your life, Ian?" She sits across from him and smiles like she's excited to get to know him.

He starts with simple things - the stress of his job, his paramedic exams, living on his own. She lets him talk, doesn't probe deeper than he wants to go and says in the end:

"It sounds like you are leading a busy and successful life, Ian. How does it make you feel, living like that?"

"Good, I guess, I like being productive" Ian pauses for a long time. 

"It's not stressful?"

"It can be" He admits, tells her a slightly edited version of losing a patient "But it's better than doing nothing. I used to be a janitor. Being an EMT, its...?" 

"It's what?" She prompts him gently and he explains what it felt like to become an EMT after thinking he was going to be a janitor all his life; how good it feels to be able to do  _something,_ to save lives. 

"It made me proud, you know? Made me think I could be someone" 

"I see. Can you explain to me does it mean for you? Being someone?" Ian shrugs 

"I like to have a purpose, to be useful. I don't want to be like..."

And Ian tells her with increasing agitation about his good for nothing dad and his bipolar mother; about the sister who brought him up while sacrificing her own childhood; about the elder brother that always got him out of trouble; about his younger siblings that he wanted to protect from everything in the world. About the promise he’s made to himself when he was a kid – that he won’t be _anything_ like his parents.

"I don't want to be that person that fucks up everyone's lives, that just depends on everyone and doesn't give anything back!" He swallows, tries to calm down a little. 

"When I was a janitor people looked at me like I was nothing, like I don't matter" The burn of it, people's gazes just drifting over him, it still hurts” Even my family, they looked at me like I was my mother – a _problem, a tickling bomb_ … " he stops "But now I can take care of them, you know?"

For a second he thinks about _what_ he had to do to take care of his family, but he shuts the door on this thought too.

"So that makes you feel proud to have a purpose. And seems like your life is very productive" Dr Foster confirms "So why did you use past tense?" 

"I... I'm still proud..." Ian looks down "It's just that lately... " 

"Lately... It doesn't... I’ve been feeling so _empty_ " The truth hurts his throat. 

"Why do you think you feel this way?" Dr Foster seems nonplussed.  

 _"Because I gave up Mickey for this"_ he thinks but isn't ready to share. Dr Foster probes further.

"What changed in your life that lead to this change of feeling?" He doesn't answer, shrugs because what can he say? Everything changed for him that night when a police car stopped in front of the old Gallagher house. 

Dr Foster nods as if his silence is totally acceptable, normal. 

"Earlier, you said you felt proud to have a purpose" she wonders "What about other emotions? Does having a purpose make you happy?" 

"I guess..." It used to, he thinks, back when he was a confused teenager having a purpose felt great. But did it make him happy? “It’s different…”

"I... I haven't been happy for a long-long time" he admits and for a second it feels like a huge relief followed quickly by a crashing horror of that realisation "I don't think I can be happy anymore"

"Let me see if I understood you correctly - you think happiness is unattainable for you?" Dr Foster asks and Ian nods hesitantly "Why do you think so?"

"It's more like... I'm bipolar, right? Strong emotions don't really work for me anymore. I can't do them, not without screwing up life for everyone else"

"When was the last time you were happy, Ian?" She asks him "Before or after you had you first episode?" 

Ian _makes_ himself think about it, but once he does, the memory comes sharp.

A car in the rare winter sun, blue eyes sparkling with delight before they are hidden behind the sunglasses, the feeling of warmth and freedom and " _right_ " spreading through Ian's body. 

 _No, no, no!_  Not that... That's tainted now with lies and betrayal...

" _But I was happy!_ " 

Another memory comes to mind. Late summer night, so hot that the sheets are clinging to his skin where they are pulled around his legs. Still he's smoking, because he can't sleep and he's desperately trying to keep himself from waking Mickey up. Because Mickey lying next to him is the sweetest, most beautiful thing he's ever seen. His skin is glowing in the soft warm light and his body and face look sated and relaxed in a way that Ian used to dream about so fucking much. And now he has it right next to him and he loves him so much he thinks his heart will burst.

 _No, no, no_... different kind of betrayal

" _But I was happy!_ " 

And then... Cold air, metallic taste of blood on his tongue, his own and Mickey's; suddenly feeling hot, alive, himself. Feeling like Mickey sees  _him_  again, loves  _him_ , wants  _him_. Thinking that if Mickey can just keep seeing him and if Ian can just let him be there for him, he can make it through, he can live...

"After" he whispers and barely recognises his own voice "I could be happy after..."

"So, you can achieve happiness even though you are bipolar, correct?" Dr Foster waits for him to nod "so why do you think you haven't been happy for such a long time?"

"I don't know" he says and cringes at the obviousness of his lie "I thought being an EMT, having friends, being there for my family - it will be enough"

"And what do you think now?" 

"It's... important" Ian insists, because it is - he's been aimless for a while and it sucked. 

"I don't doubt it, Ian" Dr Foster reminds him gently "Can we agree that having a purpose makes you _content_? But what it is that makes you _happy_?"

Ian thinks back at those moments, in the car, in their old bed at Milkoviches house, all those times on the field. He tries to think about them without the terrible sense of regret that shadowed him recently. But it's so difficult to explain it.

"Let's try it this way - close your eyes and focus on the moments when you felt the happiest. When I say "three", you have to say three words that describe these happy moments, ok?" 

"One-two-three" 

"Fire. Belonging. Freedom"

Dr Foster asks him to think about each of the words. 

"Fire..." he swallows "I don't want to live my life behind the wall, I want to fucking feel, to be allowed to feel" he closes his eyes "Belonging - it's knowing... that no matter what someone will love you, someone will be there for you, that you will be there for someone" He fights the tears "And freedom.... like I can be me and I don't have to measure up to anyone. I can just be myself and love and be loved"

"You are talking about love a lot, Ian. And yet, we haven't really talked about your personal life. Is there love in your life?"

There is a couple of minutes still left in his session, but Ian gets up and grabs his coat.

"I am sorry, I have to go"

 

***

Five hundred meters from the border, Mickey puts his hand on the door handle. He can see it clearly ahead of him – the metal fence, a counter, armed officers, a queue of cars. 

 _"Run, run, run"_ Every single cell in his body is screaming at him _"Trap, danger, get away"_

What the fuck he's been thinking? What the fuck he's been  _thinking_? Trusting a couple of coppers in suits and the insane bastard who nearly got him killed....

"Mick" Wade calls his name "They'll need your temporary ID"

Oh, yes, his ID... Mickey fishes out his wallet and takes out a solid piece of paper issued by the USA consulate in Mexico City after a week spent giving endless evidence. It's strange to see his name on it - Mickey Milkovich. He's too used to passing around as a Mickey Donovan. Not that he gives a fuck about his surname. 

Two hundred feet to the border. Mickey grips the handle tighter. The guys in the backseat produce a thick pack of documents. 

"Just sit tight, ok?" Wade says and Mickey shoots him a glare. His eyes are tracking the car's movement and the surroundings like crazy - slowing down here, a gap between other cars, Wade's gun is resting lightly on his waste, easy to reach out...

"Good morning, officers" Wade says through a rolled down window and passes their badges. One of the guys in the back gets out. Mickey's hands are fisted so tightly that they might be breaking skin. Shit, it's too many people with guns here to... 

"Here” Wade throws his paper ID in his lap. The car starts moving again, the barrier rises and before Mickey can even notice they end up on the other side of the border. 

It feels like he's just been in a fight, even though he barely moved a muscle; the remains of adrenaline rush through his body. He lowers his gaze and picks up the ID, stares at it for a long while.

_Mickey Milkovich._

 

***

Colin insisted on picking him up at the border, God knows why. Maybe he considers it something akin to being released after time inside - someone would always come to pick you up. 

Mickey doesn't mind because it gives him a reason to insist on crossing the border in New Mexico, instead of going the short way - through Texas. Fuck him if he has to pass through the same place he did it 10 months ago. 

Part of him expects Colin to not be there, given his brother's record with showing up on time or remembering things - anything requiring brain activity really - has always been pretty shitty. But there he is, at the far side of the parking lot, a big lump of the man, only more tanned, less stooped, cleaner; seems like the last couple of months in the south and a steady girlfriend did him some good.

They greet each other like any Milkoviches, a nod and a grumble. 

"Iggy wanted to come too" Colin says, his eyes locked behind Mickey's back at the federal car, wide and distrustful "But Svetlana asked for another delivery. Some shit is happening with the Alibi"

"Nothing fucking new" Mickey retorts. One of the agents actually got his backpack out of the trunk and carried it over to Colin's car, likes he's a fucking valet or something. Maybe they are afraid he’s going to blow the court, now that he’s given evidence. Wade makes his way to them. 

"Are you going with us or with your brother?" Mickey levers him with an annoyed gaze.

"Got it" Wade smirks "Then I guess it's a goodbye for now"

"Goodbye, Mr Milkovich" the agent whose name Mickey never bothered to learn nods "Just don't forget to show up in Chicago next week. We will let you know the court date, but it will likely be around early January" 

"Chicago?" Mickey scowls. Court in Mexico, they discussed, but nobody mentioned Chicago to him before. Wade stares at him sarcastically: 

"Yeah. Remember your pardon? You actually need to get the papers and real documents instead of that piece of shit. Driving license, passport, SSN" 

Which, Mickey must admit, he hasn't considered at all. He's never had a fucking passport for fuck sake, he doesn't remember his SSN and Chicago...

"We can always arrange you get your pardon somewhere else...?" offers one of the agents

"No!" Mickey blurts out without thinking "No, it's fucking fine. I'll go to Chicago"

 

***

Since moving to New Mexico Colin has developed a taste for god-awful country music. It's blaring out of the stereo loudly, accompanied by the regular screeching of the tyres - rapid speeding and braking is a signature of Colin's unique driving style. He's a much better driver than their brothers, but that's not saying much; none of them had much practice, after all - save for Mickey they all got their first DIY 3 days after getting a driving license. 

"Jesus Christ" Mickey grumbles "I can't believe that you I fucking asked you to drive a truck across America. How the fuck did you survive?"

"Driving truck is easy" Colin reasons "Don't have to brake so much" Which is a scary logic, but Mickey lets it go.

"Aren't doing much driving, anyway" Colin mumbles "You were right about fucking Johnny, by the way. Was fucking cheating us"

It takes a moment for Mickey to remember - one of Colin's drivers, ridiculous petrol receipts...

"I told you, dumbass, you need to check their paperwork"

"Yeah..." Colin's eyes glaze over "You gotta have a look, man. I don't know shit in these numbers, man" 

It's a bizarrely mundane conversation to have in Mickey's first half an hour back on the American soil, but the ex-fugitive appreciates the normalcy of the entire thing. 

It's quickly broken by a sharp blow Colin delivers to his shoulder. It's delivered sideways, using his weak arm, but Colin's hands are the size of a baseball and his muscles have been trained behind bars for years, so fuck does it hurt! 

"The fuck?!!" Mickey cries out, distracted enough that he doesn't even try to hit back.

"You didn't fucking call" Colin grumbles "You get yourself in deep shit and you don't call! That's bullshit, Mick"

"Since when?!" Mickey asks sarcastically, nursing his shoulder. 

Colin frowns and his face expression suddenly reminds Mickey of when they were still all in school and his brother tried to solve some complex mathematical equation like how much is 2 plus 2.

"Since Dad" Colin says finally and nods like he's just solved something. Maybe he did, because somehow is sounds like a convincing explanation to Mickey.

"Had no time, man" He admits "You were too far away, wouldn't have made it. And afterwards... I thought I had to disappear - easier to do on my own"

"We would have thought about something" Colin insists and there is a dozen of sarcastic retorts Mickey can give to  _that_  statement (two great thinkers, Colin and Iggy Milkovich), but he keeps them to himself.

"Next time I'm in deep shit - I'll call" He promises and adds for the sake of old habits "asshole" 

Colin grins. They drive in silence for a while.

"Ow, shit I forgot" Colin slaps the steering wheel suddenly, fishes out a battered mobile phone - he's never quite figured modern technology out

"Here, I promised to ring soon as I see you"

And a part of Mickey must still be fucked up over going to Chicago, because his heart jumps into his throat and his pulse skyrockets at the thought of who might be on the other side of the line. Quickly he rips the phone out of Colin's hands.

"Hello" His voice sounds foreign to his own ears.

"Hey, fucker!" 

It's not the voice he dreads _(hopes for? expects?)_ but it might be just as good. 

"Hey, bitch! What's up" Mandy's laugh on the other side of the line sounds lighter than he ever remembered it.

 

***

"We are gathering at 2 pm tomorrow" Fiona texts him a couple of days later and it takes Ian a moment to get what she means. Thanksgiving. It's the end of November and how the hell did it happen?

He's not been by the old house for a couple of weeks, accept to pick up Liam for school one day. To think of it he's not talked with his family for the last couple of weeks. He's been too wrapped up in Mickey, in his feelings and grief to have room in his heart for anything else.

Gallaghers' Thanksgivings used to be loud, messy and happy events, a breath of normalcy and gluttony in their fucked-up life, a day to be lazy before harsh winter arrived to eat at their squirrel fund. Monica... changed everything, at least for Ian. And this year... He wakes up in the morning with a heavy heart and doesn't even try to get out of bed until noon, until he has to get up and go. The redhead forces himself into a shower, each movement sluggish, taking a massive effort; takes his pills ( _fuck, it's three hours off the schedule_ ), throws on the only clean jeans and shirt he has left in his wardrobe and heads out. He walks, even though he doesn't have much energy, but the idea of being on a crowded bus, other people touching and pushing him, loud conversations - he can't stand it right now.

The Gallagher house is already full by the time he arrives - as soon as the doors open the noise, the smells, the  _feel_  washes over him and almost knocks him off his feet. He purposefully lingers in the hall getting rid of his coat. 

" _Get a fucking grip"_  He whispers to himself and makes his way to the kitchen; manages to force a smile just in time to greet his siblings.

"Hey!" "Hey, Ian!", "A beer, man!", "Aww, it's been forever!", "Where have you been?!" 

The entire Gallagher clan, except Carl, is gathered around the kitchen table. Frank sitting on the stairs, a beer bottle on each hand; Debbie in a pretty dress and serious make-up is feeding Franny; Fiona - casual and happily tipsy - is moving rapidly between the oven and the sink. 

It's all so familiar and normal and _dear_ to him - and yet he has to grab at the doorframe to keep himself from running away. A bottle of beer is thrust in his hands and he takes a huge gulp. The chatter continues around him. 

"Hey, where is Trevor?" Fiona asks "I thought he was coming as well!" 

And Ian should tell them about the break up, because surely, he won't be able to hide it forever, but then he would have to explain the why's and how's. And then he would have to lie anyway or face a shit storm of misunderstanding and disappointment from his siblings because the why's and how's are all about Mickey...  He can't do it right now. 

"He decided to stay at the centre, they are having a holiday meal for the kids" the lie comes easily "I might join him in the evening"

"Of course!" Fiona replies brightly; she's still sensitive about everything related to the centre and it's easy to derail her that way. Ian sees Lip opening his mouth to say something, but he's saved by the sound of the back door being thrown open.

"Gallaghers!!!" Kev's voice booms around the kitchen, his huge frame making the room seem smaller "Who ordered beer?!"

He's hugging a box of beer under one arm and one of his girls under another. V's following behind with Amy and a box of wine. The room erupts in shouting in greetings, while Ian's stares. He knows it's unfair - Kev and V are just trying to make their way in life and be successful - but he can't help but think of Svetlana and Yevgeny. Where are they now? Stuck alone during holidays? Dreading being evicted from their home and business? 

"Ian, my man!" Kev envelopes him in a bear hug "How's life?" 

"Great!" The redhead forces "You?"

"Can't complain, can't complain, man!" Kev moves on to greet other and soon the kitchen is drown in chatter and laughter. Mostly they talk about Lip's first semester back at college as his brother sharing funny stories about his classmates and professors. There is only a glass of coke in his hands, but Ian can't remember the last time he saw his brothers eyes sparkle with so much light. Debbie talks about her therapy being amazing, about a couple of jobs she got recently. Fiona complains good naturally about her building, never ending repairs and crazy renters; trying to make the end meet. Ian tries to listen, to engage and participate. The turkey almost burns, they break a chair, some neighbours shout across the street at the loud music.

" _Is it how Monica felt?_ " He thinks when it's time to sit down at the table " _Like she's an alien in the world of happy people?_ " 

Because they are happy; everybody around him is so fucking happy that he wants to scream. Even fucking Frank is laughing and joking. 

"Potatoes?" Debbie passes him the dish "When do you think it's going happen?" She turns to V to pick up some conversation Ian must have missed.

"Fingers crossed the deal goes through this time. Svetlana has been a fucking nightmare!" V signs and Ian freezes. 

"What did the bitch do?" Fiona asks passing another dish "Broccoli anyone?" 

"She says she has not done anything, but the last guy to come look at the bar had his tires slashed as soon as he parked"

"And the place is somehow full of low life every time we bring a potential buyer! Fuck knows how she manages to do it!" Kev complains

"What are you talking about?" Ian finally manages to make it past the lump in his throat "You found a buyer for Alibi?"

"Seems so!" Kev smiles at him brightly "The other two fell through, but this one seems tough. He's willing to deal with Svetlana if we lower the price a little bit" 

"Cheers to that!" Fiona raises her glass

 _"Coward! Fucking coward!"_  Ian's brain screams at him " _Fucking say something!"_

But he can't. The guilt comes first, then the resentment and finally just pure longing. 

"Sorry" he apologizes before getting up even though nobody seems to be paying him any attention, too busy with food and themselves. He locks the downstairs bathroom door behind him and switches on the water immediately. His head feels like it's made of lead, his eyes burn with tears. 

_"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"_

_He loves them, so fucking much, he did and would sacrifice so much for them. But this life, here, now, without Mickey. He can't do it..._

 

_***_

He goes back to Dr Foster the next Monday. It's difficult, he hates sitting down on the red couch, hates being so incredibly vulnerable in front of another human being. But there is just too much within him not to spill over. 

"Why do you think you felt that way?" She asks him when he tells her about Thanksgiving at his house. 

"It was... I just felt alone... like a freak among happy people" Ian swallows

He stops, takes a deep breath and dives in.

"I used to be with someone I loved" He admits suddenly "And I miss him" 

It's the first time he openly admitted missing Mickey to another person and, _God_ , does it feel good, and  _God_ does it hurt.

"It's normal to miss people we were close to during holidays, at times when we can remember better times" Dr Foster says and Ian let's out a laugh. 

He and Mickey never spend a holiday together, he realises suddenly. They never had a Thanksgiving or a Christmas. Their first year, they were nothing but fuck buddies at the time; their second - Mickey ended up in juvie in early November; their third - they were barely speaking; and then... They could have had a Thanksgiving and Christmas together if Ian didn't break up with him. And this year, they could have had it as well if only Ian wasn't a coward...

"What are you thinking about, Ian?" His therapist asks, obviously disturbed by his silence

"It's not that" Ian admits "It's not the holidays, we never spent a holiday together. I miss him all the time, every day, every second. I've missed him for years, but now... I can't ignore it. I miss him and it's my fault"

"Why do you think it's your fault?" 

Ian stays silent for a long while "I broke up with him... Because of..." He motions to his head "I didn't want to drag him into all this... And then he went away for a long time"

He explains the events as subtly as possible, not revealing names or situations; tells her about seeing Mickey and saying goodbye to him.

"It sounds like you had a closure with the person, at least physically. Why do you think you can't stop thinking about him?" 

"I just… I love him, I never stopped loving him. And I miss him..." 

"What is it that you miss?"

Everything. God,  _everything_ , every stupid little thing.

"The way he looked at me, the way it felt to kiss him, his eyes, his smile, the way he bit his lip when he was really unhappy. I miss his hands, his voice. I miss how he didn't give shit about most things, but the things he loved he would do everything to protect. I miss how he only ever saw me, even though he tried to deny it in the beginning - I could always tell" Ian lets out a laugh "Would you believe that I even miss his anger and prissiness?"

Dr Foster nods "It sounds like you were really in love with him. Have you considered reconciliation at some point?" 

Ian ignores the practical side of things - there is no way for him and Mickey to get back together, he doesn't even know where Mickey is.

"I... I hurt him badly, so many times..." He swallows "I cheated on him, I demanded things from him... He wanted to take care of me and I pushed him away...I pretended like I forgot about him, like I didn't care... I _tried_ not to care!" 

For some reason, the last part makes him feel the worse. He spent so much time hurting over Mickey's denial when it came to their relationship. To realise that he ended up doing the same...

"I abandoned him... and then I abandoned him _again_ when he asked me to move away with him" 

"So, you don't want to try reconciliation because you believe he won't forgive you?" Dr Foster asks 

"Would you have fucking forgiven your lover in these circumstances?" He allows the anger to come through.

"We are not talking about me, Ian. Or even you. We are talking about Mickey. Do you know for sure that he has no capacity in his heart to forgive you?" 

She talks about the importance of letting other people decide what they want; of not assuming what's best for them or their reactions. Ian listens and doesn't listen at the same time.

"If you think you still have feelings for this man, if you think you breaking up with him was a mistake, do you think it's not worth the risk of reaching out?"

And Ian can't really explain why it's not possible, so he opens his mouth to invent some lie, but then he pauses. Could there be a chance, a tiny chance that he can get a hold of Mickey? That he can send him a letter, or give him a call or ... see him?

"What would I say to him?" He asks quietly "How would I be able to face him after everything?"

"We can work on it, Ian" Dr Foster says calmly "But I think it would help you feel better if you could put it all on the table" 

 

***

Once the thought takes root in his mind, he can’t let it go.

And he can think of only one person who would be able to help him find Mickey. He suspects Iggy knows something as well, given that he was the one who gave Ian the money, but based on their last interaction, he's not going to spill family secrets to Ian.

It takes Ian two days of nervous anticipation before he can get hold of Mandy.

"Hey, Ian" she sounds cautious, slightly detached. That hurts him even though he deserves it after their last meeting.

"Hey" he swallows "How are you?"

"I'm good. You?" 

"Good" His mouth is suddenly dry and he can't speak. Mandy's waiting him out.

"Mandy..." He tries "Mandy, do you know where Mick is?"

He doesn't even care about how weak and pathetic he sounds. His question is met with silence on the other side and for a second he's worried she is going to hang up on him.

"So, you heard?" She says finally

"Heard what?" Suddenly, his entire body is frozen with dread "Mandy, what happened?"

_"Please, oh please, oh please"_

"Mickey got pardoned" Mandy says and he must have heard wrong because...

"What?!"

"Mickey got pardoned for helping out DEA. He's back in the States. I thought this is why you were calling"

"Where...?" It still doesn't make any sense. Mickey is in the States...suddenly only one thing matters "Where is he, Mandy?"

He can feel Mandy's sigh on the other side.

"Look, Ian, I know it's always been complicated between the two of you, but I'm not sure..."

"Please" He'll beg. He'll beg and pray and do anything in the world as long as it gets him to Mick.

"I don't know" she says and he used to know when she was lying, but not anymore "He was staying with Colin in New Mexico, but I don't know if he's still there" 

"Where?" Ian repeats and reluctantly Mandy gives him the address.

"Think about what you do, Ian, before you do it, ok?" She hangs up and Ian is left 

 

***

Ian's fingers are trembling so hard that it takes him over a minute to type in "Mickey Milkovich" in Google. A newsreel appears on his screen - not many publications, just a tiny section in a couple of local newspapers. 

_"Large DEA operation. Details confidential"_

_"Trial in Mexico. Narco cartel leader. American witness"_

_"Official pardon on Thanksgiving day"_

For a second Ian wonders if he's hallucinating. If the words he's seeing on the screen are real or if they just exist in his imagination. If he has just imagined the entire conversation with Mandy. Because it can't be true. It is too good to be true. 

He drops his phone and stares at the tiny piece of paper with an address in his pocket. New Mexico... It's almost like Mexico... It would almost be like going to Mexico with Mickey...

 _"Get a fucking grip!"_  He shouts at his mind through rising hysteria.

 _"I need to go there right now"_ a part of him thinks.

" _And what are going to do when you get there?"_  Asks another " _What are you going to say?"_

 

***

He spends the entire day thinking. Thinking and gathering courage; repeating Dr Foster’s words in his mind. 

He still has enough sense of reality to show up on his shift this evening. And work is probably the only thing that keeps him sane through the night. 

The morning after, he falls, rather than walks in Patsies, feeling strangely energetic, even after a sleepless night. He needs coffee and a place to think. 

The diner is almost empty, so he flops on  one of the tall chairs and orders coffee. 

"You are kidding?!" His sister's voice booms from the kitchen and Ian cringes; he was hoping she wouldn't be here.

"I'm telling you, I couldn't believe my eyes!" It's V speaking now "I come into Alibi and Mickey fucking Milkovich is sitting at the bar!"

The girls appear from the kitchen just as Ian shots up from his chair. Fiona freezes mid-step and V's mouth falls into a perfect ”O".

"Mickey's here?" Ian doesn't recognise his own voice. 

"Ian..." Fiona's got her "mom" face on, her tone soft and strict at the same time.

But Ian's not listening. It's real. He hasn't been hallucinating, it's real all right. Mickey's _here_. 

And all the questions of the last two days, last week whether he should or should see Mickey - they don't matter anymore. They never mattered, Ian realises. Because Mickey's here and Ian's legs start moving on their own.

"Ian!" Fiona shouts his name. It doesn't matter - he's running, running, running. Last time he run like that he was 15 years old. 

He doesn't know why he runs straight to the Alibi, why he expects Mickey to still be there. He turns the corner of the street and freezes. 

He is there. Mickey is standing right outside Alibi, cigarette in his hand.

_Mickey, Mickey, Mickey..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, apologies if the scenes with the therapist came across as implausible - I've never been to formal therapy, so I was basing it solely on some online sources and the story objective. 
> 
> Secondly, this chapter might come across a bit boring - a placeholder before the big event - but it was important for me to show that Ian does try; that he's finally acknowledges the problem and seeks help. Whether it's going to be enough, we will see. 
> 
> And of course, Mickey... Mickey is home.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The universe must have a very fucked up sense of humour, because it doesn't give a shit about what he's ready for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The words on this page can never measure up to the images in my head, but they'll have to do

 

_Early December, Chicago_

_***_

Mickey felt nothing except relief upon successfully crossing the border. There was no "fall down on your knees and kiss the ground" feeling, no immediate sense of homecoming. So, he's almost embarrassed to feel strange warmth spreading in his chest when Chicago skyline appears on the horizon. He grips the wheel tighter.  Less than a year ago he left this city with the intention of never coming back and now...

Fuck, he doesn't know.

Everything feels surreal. The cold, the grey sky, parking in front of the old Milkovich house, the streets he remembers seeing every morning his entire life. And yet it's so painfully familiar, this place, like it's written on his bones. He feels as if he left it yesterday and at the same time as if he's been gone forever. 

"What's up?" Mickey almost jumps at Iggy's question. His brother has been asleep since Springfield and Mickey kind of forgot that he was in the car.

"Nothing" he gets out of the vehicle and climbs the stairs to the front door.

He hasn't been to the house since that day in late October, just over two years ago, when Ian's name flashed on the screen and he took off running. Two fucking years... 

"I'm gonna crush, man" Iggy says somewhere behind him, but Mickey ignores it. He's just stands in the middle of the living room, feeling too full and too empty at the same time.

Last time he spent the night here, it was still filled with evidence of Ian and him living together. Their clothes mixed all over the floor; Ian's dumbbells in the corner, his sport nutrition in the kitchen cabinet, his boots by the door; his iPod on the kitchen table. 

Now, it's all gone, of course, all traces of their lives together...

Mickey turns around and walks out, the door slamming behind him. 

 

***

If driving the Southside streets felt surreal, walking them feels even stranger. He's freezing, even though by Chicago standards it's very warm. His feet remember the road so well he can anticipate every crack in the pavement. A couple of passer-by’s glance his way and he can read recognition and confusion on their faces. The entire neighbourhood will be talking about his return soon. He doesn't know if he wants them or not. 

He pushes the door to the Alibi open and is relieved to find it empty save for some blond girl cleaning the bar and Svetlana. His ex-wife looks up at the sound and he notices her eyes widening for a second before she schools her expression in her usual mask.

"I thought Ignaty will be coming today" she says and _fuck_ if he knows how she manages to sound so disapproving.

"He's asleep. We drove the entire night" 

"I told him I need help"

"Well, you'll fucking have to wait until he wakes up" 

They scowl at each other like prickly wary cats. 

He used to hate her so fucking  _much_. He hated everything about her - her beauty, her confidence, her stupid stubbornness, her constant attempts to turn him into a husband and father he never wanted to fucking be. Every time he looked at her, the only thing he could see was Ian's face when he sat naked, beat down, destroyed in the chair watching Mickey fuck a woman, so that he could save them both. Every time he looked at her he used to see all his failings and betrayals. 

Later that hate turned to indifference and tentative acceptance and then to resentment again. Because bizarrely it was Svetlana who stuck by him when everybody else left. For her own fucking selfish reasons, of course, but still... Hers was the only face he saw on the other side of the glass, instead of the face that he really wanted, and, fuck did he hate it! 

He used to hate and resent her so much for such a long time, it's strange to discover... he doesn't anymore. 

He's,  _fuck_ , he's almost glad to see her, alive and well, almost unchanged, a survivor just like him.

There must be something she sees in his face, because her wary look softens and her postures relaxes. 

"They let you off the hook?" She asks finally and Mickey nods "Unbelievable! You kill someone, you escape prison, you run to Mexico and they just let you back in, no problem. Idiots are blessed, indeed" she shakes her head like she's really disappointed in the system. 

"I didn't kill anyone, one; I did a fucking year inside, two; I nearly fucking died helping DEA, three. And stop calling me a fucking idiot!" One thing for sure, she can still raise his hackles like no one else.

"Of course, you are an idiot. Blessed idiot" he can swear he sees a ghost of a smirk on her face "What kind of idiot would escape prison and then deal with DEA?" 

"A kind that supplies your fucking bar with free alcohol?" Mickey retorts and Svetlana inclines her head in silent agreement. Her expression darkens. 

"Where is Yevgeny?" Mickey breaks the silence after awhile

"Upstairs. Sleeping" Svetlana motions to the stairs "Would you like to see him?"

"Yes" Mickey's surprised at his own answer "Yes, if that's all right?"

She leads him to the apartment upstairs that used to be rub-and-tug. She managed to turn it into pretty decent living space, he'll give her that. But he doesn't spare another thought on her living circumstances, because suddenly he feels like he's about to have a panic attack. His legs turn heavy, palms sweaty and he can hear a rush of the blood in his ears. He forces himself to keep moving - step, another step - until he reaches a small bed and peers at the sleeping toddler. 

He's shocked at the first sight of Yevgeny - when did he grow so fucking big?! He looks like a little adult now, sprawled on his back, arms wide and face happy relaxed in sleep. He must take it from Svetlana - all Milkoviches favour sleeping on their stomachs. Or maybe it's just that he feels safe and protected even in his sleep? He looks protected, in this cosy bed, surrounded by fuzzy blankets and plush animals. Mickey recognises the tiger he gave to him all those months ago among the small collection and wonders if it is always kept here or if Svetlana put it on display on purpose. It looks well-used, though.

"He loves the stupid tiger too" Svetlana says as if she can read his thoughts "Wouldn't part with it! I try to explain to him that there are no tigers in Mexico"

Mickey ignores her quip, let's himself enjoy the warmth spreading through his body. Slowly and hesitantly he reaches out and touches the lock of hair that fell on Yev’s forehead. It must be Svetlana as well, though if he thinks about it, Mandy's hair was exactly the same shade when she was a kid.

Suddenly, Yev’s face scrunches in a tiny frown and he stretches. Mickey snatches his hand back, but the deed is done. Slowly and sleepily the toddler opens his eyes and looks straight at Mickey. The ex-fugitive throat goes dry.

"Hey..." he whispers rather than says. He doesn't know where Yev gets his hair from, but there is no doubt that his eyes are just like Mickey's own. 

He expects Yev to start crying when he sees a stranger leaning over his bed or look for his mom, but his son just stares at him curiously. Then, seemingly satisfied with his analysis, he smiles, turns on his side and goes back to sleep.

Mickey doesn't know how much time passes before Svetlana tags at his arm to leave. His legs’ turned to rubber and he almost falls down. 

"He's a good kid" Svetlana says when they get back downstairs and Mickey nods. He leans against the bar, watches her take a step behind the counter. She looks like she belongs here.

"Tell me what the fuck's happening with the bar"

 

***

After spending almost an hour watching Svetlana and that pair of idiots passively aggressively argue about the future of the Alibi, Mickey needs a smoke. 

Svetlana's very strict about smoking in the bar and even though she's not here now, having taken Yev to some toddler club, he steps out into the cold Chicago winter. It helps to clear away the headache that started in the back of his head. He takes a deep grab and allows himself to relax a little bit. It's been a couple of productive days. Step one - get an official pardon. Step two - help Svetlana with the bar. Step three - ... he's not ready to think about. 

The universe must have a very fucked up sense of humour, because it doesn't give a shit about what he's ready for.

 

***

Ian can't move. It's not a physical restriction, not really. He can literally feel his blood pumping through his limbs. He feels more alive than he felt in months. But he doesn't trust that what he's seeing - Mickey, right here, in front of him, alive and well - is not a plot of his imagination. And he doesn't think he's going to be able to survive if he takes a step forward and the hallucination disappears in front of his eyes.

" _You are not hallucinating"_ he says to himself " _You are all right. It's real"_

Their eyes meet for the first time in 10 months. And suddenly Ian can't  _not_  move. Because, Mickey is here, Mickey's in front of him, Mickey who he missed and longed for and thought about so much is  _here_.

He starts walking straight towards Mickey, fast; his arms itch to hug him, to hold him close. He wants to borrow his face in the familiar crook of his shoulder and just fucking breath. 

Mickey shifts on his feet, a tiny movement, barely visible, his body inching forward towards Ian and then immediately leaning back. 

Leaning away...

Ian stops in his track, bare three feet away and the universe smashes into him.

He forgot. He forgot about all the stuff that separates them now - the border, unreturned "I love you's", abandonment. All the stuff that he agonised over on the last several months, just flew his head.

But Mickey clearly remembers.

" _I'm sorry_ " Ian wants to shout, " _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please_ " 

"Hey" he says 

"Hey" Mickey's eyes are half downcast. He throws the cigarette away and puts his hands in his hoodie, hunches on himself. They stand across from each other, the position oddly reminiscent of ten months ago, at Mexican border. 

"You are back" Ian says finally, not a question, not a statement. Hope. 

Mickey lowers his eyes "Come inside, man. I'm not used to that freaking cold anymore"

They go inside, where indeed it's much warmer. The Alibi is empty. Mickey walks towards the bar and half leans against, fingers drumming on the surface awkwardly. Ian trails behind like a moth after a light. He can't take his eyes off Mickey, can't stop drinking in every little detail about him like a man who found oasis in the middle of the dessert.

The ex-con looks lean and healthy, the muscles he developed while inside still prominent. His skin completely lost its milky paleness though; now it's deep smooth tan and his eyes stand out impossibly blue against it. His hair is cut short, a couple of longer strands falling onto his forehead, which is crunched in a familiar scowl. Ian would give up  _anything_  to be able to touch him right now. 

Mickey seems uncomfortable under his scrutiny; he's biting his lip - a familiar sign of doubt and concentration. Ian nerves are pulled so tight he physically aches. 

"Where is everyone?" He asks, desperate for the safe ground, for mundanity of small talk. Mickey shoots him quick sideways glance before looking away. 

"Svetlana took Yevgeniy to some kind of shitty kiddie club. And the fucking Balls are gone"

"I know... I mean I saw V at Patsies...this is how..." He stops himself - what the fuck he's doing wasting the time on Balls?

"I thought you were in New Mexico" He blurts out "Mandy said you are in New Mexico..." He finishes helplessly. Mickey's eyes grow slightly wide at the revelation of how much Ian knows. 

"I stayed with Colin for a week" he doesn't offer any further explanation. It hits Ian once again, how surreal the entire situation is.

"How...? Why...?" He's not making sense but then he never had to, not with Mickey. 

"Dumb luck" Mickey shrugs and the gesture is so familiar that Ian wants to cry. Fuck, he missed it!

"I was living in that tiny Mexican village, selling kick ass tequila. Yeah" He smirks at Ian's dumbfounded expression "Legit and all. Got accidentally mixed with the drugs cartel. Ended up helping a DEA agent under cover, got shot, agreed to testify in court, got a pardon"

There is probably much more to the story, but Ian latches on one thing that seems most important.

"You got shot?" He takes a step forward, scanning his ex-lover head to toe; overwhelmed with panic, a reminder of his dreams leaving a trail of desperation "Where? When? Are you ok?"

"I'm fine" Mickey's says firmly as if he’s rejecting the care, the concern "Went straight through. They actually don't have the worst medicine there"

Ian allows the thought to settle in his mind, forces his breath under control. 

"And you are safe?" He enquiries "From the cartel? From the police?"

Mickey nods, looks straight at him and now it's Ian's turn to feel scrutinised. He wonders what Mickey is seeing in his face. Can he see the fucked-up mess in Ian's head? Can he see the longing, the regret? Or is he just seeing the face of the man who betrayed him?

"You still an EMT?" Mickey motions to his uniform. 

"Yeah" Ian nods "I'm applying to be a paramedic; got an exam in two weeks" 

"Yeah? Still working your ass off to be a fucking superhero?" In contrast with his sarcastic words, Mickey's lopsided smile is so pleased and gentle that Ian almost blushes; he forgot how good it felt - to have this simple acceptance. Mickey continues looking at him, though, and a slight frown appears on his face.

"You alright, man?" And his gaze is like an x-ray, burning through Ian's soul. And when was the last time anyone asked him this question like  _that_  - honestly, concerned, wanting to know the real answer? 

" _No, Mick, I've been a mess for months because of you, because of my mom. I think I'm losing my mind_ " 

"I'm good, just tired" he says instead. Because, if he got this chance, if he got a chance with Mickey, he can't let the mess in his head interfere with it.

"You got to fucking take care of yourself" Mickey murmurs and then looks away immediately as if he didn't mean to let these words out. Like he didn't _want_ to let them out. His jaw tenses and he crosses his arms, familiar crude letters flashing on his fingers. 

Ian feels like he might cry; desperately searches for another topic.

"Svetlana might lose the bar. She and Yevgeny live upstairs" He doesn't know why it's so important for Mickey to know, but it is. If she won't accept help from him, she should take it from someone else. Mickey again looks surprised at the fact that Ian is aware of the situation and shame burns through his veins. It rattles that Mickey knows just how far his abandonment of their little family went. 

"No, she fucking won't" Mickey shakes his head "I'll buy out the Balls' half"

It's Ian's turn to look surprised; he doesn't know where Mickey is going to take money from.

He doesn't know  _anything_  about Mickey's life anymore, he realises sadly. 

"Was it everything you expected?" Ian asks suddenly "Mexico?" He wants to know, he wants to know everything, soak up every little detail of Mickey's life. But the moment the question is out he knows it was a mistake. Mickey's jaw tightens further and anger flashes through his eyes.

"Nothing was what I  _expected_ , Ian" he says, gaze boring into him "But it was good"

"I..."

" _I should have come with you"_  he thinks, but is too cowardly to say; goes with an easier topic.

"I know what you did" he swallows "The deal" he explains when Mickey stares at him incomprehensibly "Debbie told me she was there with you when you tried to torture Sammi. She said you didn't try to kill her. And Svetlana said the police offered you a deal. I..."

"Ian, it doesn't fucking matter" Mickey's face scrunched in an ugly grimace.

"Of course, it does!" Ian steps closer "My sister would have ended up in jail if it weren't for you! You went to prison because of a stupid mistake!"

"I would have ended up inside anyway. What was the point in taking her with me? And it probably wouldn't have happened anyway - chance is the fuckers were just bullshitting me with Sammi's testimony. I doubt the bitch saw Debbie for real. So, don't shed any tears over my great sacrifice"

"And you still went with it?" Ian asks disbelievingly "You could have gone to trial, you wouldn't have to take the deal!"

"You don't know it" Mickey shakes his head "It wasn't just the murder, it was the truck scheme, the rub-and-tug, some old family staff. It had potential to get everyone in shit - Iggy, Svetlana, the little redhead. I could just make it disappear - so I fucking did"

"You could have had a lighter sentence!" Ian insists stubbornly

"I didn't give a fuck about how long my sentence was!" Mickey almost shouts, his eyes cold, anger straining his voice ”Oh what, you would actually  _meant_  your promise if you only had to wait two years?" 

Ian's throat goes dry. There are words that he needs to say, but he can't. They stare at each for some time, until Mickey drops his gaze and sighs.

"Why the fuck are we talking about it, man? It's all water under the bridge now. I'm not in prison anymore" He sounds tired, resigned, like it literally doesn't matter to him anymore. Like Ian doesn't matter...

"I just... " he swallows "I just thought so much about it, about you, Mickey. I missed you so much"

Mickey stays silent for a long time, his fists clenching and unclenching where they are crossed over his chest. And then his expression changes, softens. 

"I thought about you too" He admits quietly and, God help him, because Ian can't hold back anymore. His eyes fall on Mickey's mouth and he surges forward without thinking...

**"Don't!"**

Ian wouldn't be able to count the number of times Mickey pulled away from him in their relationship - it's too many. They all flash through his mind that moment - their first time together; after Frank discovered them; at Mickeys wedding; when Ian admitted he's done a porno; at the border... Each and every time hurt like hell, but never,  _never_  like this one does. 

Ian stays frozen mid-stride, arms still slightly outstretched towards Mickey, mouth hanging slightly open. He hopes against hope that Mickey will relent, like he did every time in the past, pulling away and then surging forward eventually. He prays for it, like he prayed at the border.

" _Please, one more kiss, one last time, just once, let me have it just one more time_ " And at the border Mickey listened. Not now. 

"Mick" His throat tightens and he feels tears burning their way to his eyes "Please..."

 

***

It's too much... Everything in him - down to the tiniest cell - screams to reach out, grab Ian with all his might, kiss him hard and never ever let go again. Because, it's Ian,  _his_  Ian standing across from him. But another part of him screams 

_"Don't! Danger! You'll get broke again! It'll destroy you!"_

And he has no fucking idea what to do...

 

***

"Please, Mick, can't we just..." Ian can't force the words out of his own mouth "I missed you so much..."

Mickey sucks in a breath, but doesn't say anything. Ian takes a deep breath and bites the bullet.

"I know I should have come with you to Mexico" he admits harshly "I regretted every day that I didn't. I'm so sorry..."

"Shut up!" Mickey leashes out furiously "That was a fucking  _stupid_  idea to begin with. I never should have expected you to come. I guess I never really did..."

And it hurts, because when he got in the car that day, Ian did plan on coming with Mickey. 

He was ready to take the step; he felt free, happy, " _right_ ". 

"I planned to. I swear, I did!" He insists “I just... I got scared, Mick. About so many things" He's ashamed to admit it, but Mickey just shrugs...

"I knew you had a life here, job, family, prospects. I was an idiot" Mickey says softly, like he's come to terms with it.

"No! It's not that, Mick, not only that! I... You made me feel so much during those couple days. More than I felt in ages. And I thought... it was like losing control and I got so scared that I was going to screw things up again" he inhales "But if I could go back in time, I would have. I swear, I would have"! 

Mickey's face looks open and vulnerable for a moment, mouth slack and eyes shiny.  Then it hardens. 

"What do you want from me, Ian?" He challenges him openly

"I want to be with you. I want to stay with you and earn your forgiveness"

"Why?" Mickey's eyes are burning through his soul

"I love you" Mickey closes his eyes and Ian prepares to hear " _Fuck your, Gallagher"_  in response or even see a fist coming his way. For a second it seems like it will come, Mickeys hands tightening again. Then his mouth distorts in an ugly line and he asks, almost mockingly. 

"And what the hell does it mean?" 

Ian would have preferred a fist.

 

***

It's cruel, Mickey knows, to throw these words back at Ian. He doesn't know where it's coming from, this anger, this desperate fury and pain. He thought it was long buried very deep inside.

But the entire situation, the terrifying speed of things changing - it makes it all come back. He just wants to fucking know why! But there is no pleasure in seeing Ian's face pale, his entire frame leaning back as if Mickey hit him. 

"Forget it, man" he murmurs and turns away. 

"No!" Ian steps forward, chin stuck out. He's always been brace and stubborn, his guy -  Mickey forgot how much he loved it.

"No..." Ian repeats "You are right... I know I said these words at the border too and I abandoned you. I am so ..."

"It's not about the  _fucking_  border!" Mickey feels the anger bubbling out.

"I would have given  _anything_  for you to come with me" He admits " But I  _get_  the border..." He has to pause lest his voice breaks completely "You know what I don't get?" 

"I don't get how if you love me, you broke up with me. I don't get how you forgot I existed for 16 months. I don't get how you couldn't visit me even once on your own free will because it was fucking  _hard_  for you seeing me on the other side of the glass. That's what I fucking don't get, man"

Ian looks down again and Mickey fights the tears.

"I fucking told you I loved you, Ian and you just... behaved as if it was stupidest thing you've ever heard" 

"You couldn't" Ian blurts out suddenly and Mickey stares at him in surprise "You couldn't love what I was back then, ok? The person you thought you loved, it was someone else. And you didn't even see it..."

"You are full of shit!" Mickey says disbelievingly "I didn't see it because it's not true!"

"No" Ian shakes his head desperately "I went with Monica, I saw it... I saw what I was becoming... would become. You couldn't love it, nobody could. I didn't  _want_  you to love that!"

" _You can't fix me because I'm not broken_ , I'm me!" When what he meant was " _I can't heal, you can't make me better - this is the me you have to love now and I know you can't_ ".

Mickey stares at him for a moment than shakes his head.

"I wanted to love that, to love you" He says simply "For me, there was never any difference" Ian looks away and Mickey wonders if he just doesn't believe him or if he doesn't  _want_  to believe him.

"Ok... Say this is true. Say you broke up with me because you had this fucking delusion in your mind"

"Say you were so low for a while that you couldn't gather the energy to come and see me. That's fine" He swallows "I would have waited forever for you"

"But you got fucking better. You got fucking better, you got a job. Would it have hurt you to just drop fucking by? Or was it too  _hard_? We fucking lived together, Ian! You were my fucking  _family_!"

He realizes that his shouting... Ian takes a shaky breath, his lips tremble. 

"I ... Mick, I...You don’t understand… The only reason I got better was because... because I got used to  _not_  feeling anything. That was the only way for me. I just put every emotion in as deep as possible. And I couldn't do it around  _you_ , Mick - I could never not feel around you"

His words burn through Mickey's blood “This is why it was hard”

"And I guess, with time, it became a habit... It became easier to forget I could ever feel like anything" 

"So, you choose to leave me behind?" It hurts, hurts knowing that the way for Ian to save himself was to abandon Mickey.

Ian's silence is enough and suddenly Mickey turns around and slams his fists into the surface of bar, let's the pain, anger, betrayal just flow out into the hard surface. 

 

***

"Do you hate me?" Ian can't keep the tremble out of his voice. He doesn't know what he's going to do if the answer is yes. 

"Ian" Mickey lifts his head up from where it was hanging over the bar. His fists relax and his voice gentles to resigned whisper. He won't look at the redhead though "I could never hate you" 

Ian breathes out "But you won't give me another chance?" Mickey almost chuckles and finally looks back up. The anger is gone from his eyes, just tired resignation remains. 

"I just don't know what changed for you that you want it now" He shrugs "When you didn't want it before"

"I always wanted it!" Ian pleads "Mickey, even when I didn't even know who I was! When I was hiding from myself. I wanted you! I missed you and I love you!"

"I'm better now, I have it under control, I can handle emotions!"

" _Liar, liar, liar"_ His internal voice sings, but he shoves it far away. 

"I know what love means, Mickey. It means we take care of each. It means that I go where you go. It means that we stay together no matter what" Mickey looks down "I just want a chance to prove it to you" 

"Ian..." Mickey shakes his head "Until when? The next time you feel like emotions are getting too much?" 

Ian's green eyes sparkle with unshed tears.

"I can't make you believe me... But you are home now... We finally have a chance, Mick! I just want another change " Ian can feel hysteria in his own voice.  _It can't be the end, it can't be!!!_

"I'm not staying" Mickey says abruptly and Ian feels his entire world tip back. 

 

***

He didn't know it was what he was going to do until the words are out of his mouth. But now he sees that it's the only way. He needs to go, right  _now_. Because he fucking can't... Can't deal with another dream dangling in front of his face.

"What?" Ian takes a step back, as he just received another blow. It breaks something within Mickey, Ian's pain. 

"I need to go back to Mexico for the trial and I don't know how long it'll take" It's the honest truth.

"What about Yevgeny? The bar - you just bought it..." Ian's eyes are roaming his face with wild desperation and his words scrap terribly at the inside of Mickey's skull.

"It's Lana's bar. And Yevgeny survived that long without me. He doesn't need me"

"You are his father..." Ian almost pleads and Mickey thinks about the last three days he spent with the little boy, feels a pang of regret for the days he’s going to miss.

"Come on... he can't even remember me! You've been more of a father to him than I ever was" He doesn't mean it like that, like accusation, but Ian flinches. 

"Are you coming back?" Ian stares at him with his impossibly green eyes and, _fuck-fuck-fuck_!

"I don't know" Mickey says honestly, because right now he knows fuck all about what happens next in his life.

"Can I come with you?" Ian blurts out suddenly and Mickey closes his eyes, bites his lips "Mickey, please, I mean it this time" 

"Come on, man. Your life's here. What about your job? Your paramedic exam? Your family? You boyfriend? You just going to drop all of it?" He can't hold back a bitter disbelieving laugh. 

"I don't have a fucking boyfriend!" Ian says quickly and Mickey pauses on it, swallows down questions like " _since when?", "did you break up with him?"_. It's not me of his business anymore. 

 "And I don't care about _anything_ else. Not if I can't be with you"

The words hit something within him, but they also send him in complete head spin. It's too fucking much, too soon, and the  _fuck_  is he supposed to do with it? He already went on this journey and he didn't come back whole. What's the point trying again?

 

***

Mickey takes a step back and a sick realisation settles in Ian's stomach. 

"You don't  _want_  me to come with you" He whispers "You don't  _want_  me anymore"

"Ian... it's not..." Mickey shakes his head "Four weeks ago I thought I would never see you again. I just... I can't be here right now" 

But Ian is hearing something different from what he's saying, he can see it. The redhead's face tightens, his jaw sticks out stubbornly.

"Is there someone else?" He asks almost coldly "In Mexico. Is there someone else?"

Mickey feels anger flaring up, because what kind of right...? He swallows.

"First, there is no one in Mexico; second go fuck yourself!" 

 

***

They stare at each other for a long time. Ian's face is still tight and set aggressively, but his eyes are filled with tears. Mickey can feel his own nose itch.

"Would you have told me?" The redhead asks suddenly "If I didn't find out that you are back, would you have told me?" Mickey's throat tightens.

"Course, I would have..." He says simply. It's not much of a promise, but apparently Ian sees something he needs in it. He takes a step forward, invading Mickey's personal space, his jaw set stubbornly once again. 

"I am not giving up this time, Mickey. I know I fucked up, but I'm not going to anymore. I love you. I'm waiting for you this time. No matter how long it takes." 

He steps forward faster than Mickey can even react to, grabs his neck and presses a bruising kiss to his lips. It's short, brutal, almost painful, their lips and teeth knocking against each other. It feels like Ian is trying to lay claim on him, imprint his entire being on Mickey's mouth. After a mile-second Mickey presses back, just as forcefully. Until he can taste salt on his lips and Ian's wrenching away from him abruptly. 

"Ian..." but the redhead is already turning around and running out. The door slams behind him and Mickey's left standing in the middle of the bar, shocked, lost, feeling like he just got out of the fight. 

"Fuck!" He squeezes his eyes. He can feel Ian's lips on his, his hands on his neck, his smell in his nostrils. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I feel like most people knew what was coming... 
> 
> I wish I could write it differently, but the story in my head refused to go any other way :) Mickey doesn't adapt to change quickly, he takes time to process things. He's not ready yet...


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mickey will come back" he says like a mantra every morning looking at himself in the mirror "Mickey will come back".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning... I'm afraid some people might find this chapter even harder than the previous one...

_Chicago, end-December_

 

***

During the two weeks that pass between Mickey's departure and his paramedic exams, Ian feels like someone tore him apart and then put together haphazardly. 

" _Mickey will come back_ " he says like a mantra every morning looking at himself in the mirror " _Mickey will come back"._

His own expression stares back distrustfully. His eyes are bloodshot - between work, revisions and thinking about Mickey, he barely gets a couple of hours of sleep a day.

He thinks about Mickey all the time; replays their meeting over and over in his head. He should have said that he's sorry... for abandoning him, for abandoning Yev, Lana, their family. He should have told Mickey about how much he thought of him during the last year, how much he missed him, how much he understood. He should have begged him to allow him to come. He should have asked him to stay. _Should have... should have... should have..._

He punches the glass. The pain in his hand is almost strong enough to distract him for a second.

 

***

Ian doesn't know why he expects Mickey's return to affect everyone the same way it affects him. He doesn't know whether to be pleased or angry when he realizes it doesn't. 

Fiona texts him the morning after he runs away from the Patties "You ok? You left so quickly yesterday"; she seems satisfied when he brushes her off. 

Lip drops by his flat a couple of days lately to check in on him in what he considers to be a subtle way. 

"I hope I'm not intruding?" He looks around and Ian belatedly realizes that he never got to telling Gallaghers about his break up with Trevor. 

They sit down for a beer and coffee; chat about this and that, Ian's work, Lip's busy exam weeks. 

"So, Mickey's back, huh?" Lip asks after a while and Ian nods "How the fuck did that happen?" 

Lip is probably the only person in the world who knows most of the ins and outs of his relationships with Mickey. And he's probably the only person that Ian could talk to right now, if only he knew where to start.

"Yeah, he got a pardon for helping out the DEA"

"Figures" Lip shakes his head and smirks slightly "Milkoviches and drugs always find their way to each other"

It sounds derogatory, sounds like the kind of stuff Lip used to say when they were kids.

"He didn't deserve to go to prison in the first place!" Ian snaps "Drugs or not, he fucking deserves to get his life back" _Deserves to look healthy, deserves to prosper, deserves to be free; with or without Ian..._

"Ian, he tried to kill Sammi..." Lip’s looking at him as if he sprouted two extra heads. Ian closes his eyes for a moment.

"Did you know that Debbie was there?"  He stares at his brother trying to determine whether he was the only one in the dark "That they were just trying to scare her off? Mickey made a deal with the authorities to keep Debbie out of the trouble"

Lip looks stunned for a moment.

"Did Mickey tell you that?" He lets out a disbelieving half-laugh "Come on, Ian! So, maybe Debbie was there. Maybe they didn't mean to kill Sammi. But Mickey making a deal - that's bullshit!"

Ian turns away. He always hated when Lip used that tone - superior genius that knows everything about everyone. 

"I didn't learn about it from Mickey" he says stubbornly

"Who else can it be?" Lip looks confused for a second, clearly forgetting or maybe never remembering in the first place Svetlana and Yevgeny. But then so did Ian...

"He's gonna stick around?" Lip asks casually, eyes darting from his cup to Ian's face for just a second. Ian shrugs.

"Don’t think so..." He swallows "It seems that he wants nothing to do with me actually..."

"What, there would be no kidnapping you again and riding off into the sunset?" Lip smirks. He's joking, Ian knows, but it still hurts, because it's fucking true.

"It's not _fucking_ funny" White-hot sharp anger shoots through him and Lip leans back, shocked by unexpected reaction.

"Woah! Man, you are not...?" Lip pauses clearly reconsidering what he wanted to say "You aren't still hang up on this, are you?" 

" _Hang up"_  - such a stupid ugly term; like it's a bother, like the entire thing is just in Ian's imagination, like it's a problem. Ian squeezes his jaw.

"I'm not hang up on anything" he murmurs stubbornly 

" _I just fucking love Mickey_ " his brain offers but he's learned over the years that saying it doesn't help.

"Come on!" Lip moves next to him and throws an arm across his shoulders "What are you going to do? Drop your life every time he shows up in town? Drop your career, boyfriend, family?"

"You said yourself, I'm always turning loco around him" Ian mocks his brother. The entire conversation is grating on his nerves.

"And then you went and showed I was fucking wrong. You can do it again, Ian. I know past can be fucking alluring, but you don't want another go at the fucking train wreck, do you?" 

That gets Ian to freeze.

"The fuck do you mean, train wreck?" 

"You know, a Milkovich train wreck” Lip smiles softly “constant chasing and drama, emotional constipation, treating you like dirt, cheat and make a baby with another woman, not a single normal conversation. Fuck, break up, repeat"

Ian stares at his brother and suddenly realises that  _this_  is what Lip thinks his relationship with Mickey were like. It sounds like a dirty, dramatic, one-sided fuck fest...

How...? Why...?

Ian knows that Mickey is not the most expressive person in the world, not with strangers. And maybe it's Ian's fault for never fully disclosing the circumstances of Mickey's wedding or his second trip to juvie. But... how can Lip not know that there is so much more? How can Ian explain the mix of desire and calm that envelopes him when he's surrounded by Mickey's smell; Mick's sharp humour, his protectiveness; how he challenges Ian without making him feel inferior; how they can sit together in silence without feeling lonely; or have an entire conversation in a few words.

Lip doesn't know any of it and Ian has no idea how to explain it...

"It wasn't like that" He argues weakly and Lip shrugs.

"So, there were some good parts. Fantastic sex, I know" he ruffles hair on the back of Ian's head "It's in the past, though. You both moved on. It's a good thing, man" 

And just like that Ian realises that he's alone.

 

***

"How did it make you feel, finally being able to air what's been on your mind for so long?" His therapist asks gently

"It hurt" Ian admits "And I don't think Mickey believed me. I didn't explain how sorry I was. I was such a mess..."

"Why do you think he didn't believe you ?" Dr Foster interrupts his rambling.

"He didn't want to stay, did he?" He shakes his head "But he's going to come back, I know. He just needs a bit of time" he hates the way her face is immediately schooled into that accepting, understanding expression.

"I just know he will..." he repeats but it comes through as a whisper.

"Let's pause on this for a moment and go back to your conversation. Do I understand correctly that you think that you screwed up because if you did not he would have stayed?" Ian nods 

"Did he say that he didn't believe your apologies?" 

"No, he said it was water under the bridge. He said that he doesn't hate me"

"Is it something that Mickey would do typically. Lie to make you feel better?" 

"No" Ian almost laughs at the thought of Mickey sugar coating anything "No, he wouldn't..."

The entire scene plays back in his head, Mickey's eyes boring into him. 

"So maybe he did believe you? Do you think it's possible?" Ian nods reluctantly "Do you think there might be another reason he didn't stay?" Dr Foster probes 

"Maybe he noticed I was a mess" Ian says bitterly "Maybe I didn't hide it that well" Another memory pops into his mind "He asked me about it you know? Asked if I was ok. Not in bullshit " _are you ok?_ " way, he doesn't do that shit. He asked like it was...like he cared and was worried"

"You are saying it like him caring is a bad thing" Ian hates her being able to latch onto thing like that.

"No... it's just... I don't want him worrying, thinking I'm a mess. I don't want to do it to him again"

"Again. You mentioned that Mickey used to take care of you. Let's come back to that in a moment" Dr Foster repeats "But it sounds to me like Mickey is not scared by what you call a "mess". So why do you think that would make him leave?"

"He can't want to do it again!" His laugh comes out like a bark and it hurts his own ears.

"Ok, let's assume he doesn't, but if he believed something was wrong, wouldn't he want to help you?"

Ian falls silent; confusion, fear and despair knitting themselves inside his chest.

"Have you ever considered that him not staying might have nothing to do with how you behave, Ian. That he didn't stay for his own reasons?"

"Such as?" Ian looks her straight in the eyes, challenging. 

"Sometimes, people want to move on even if they come to terms with the situation"

And there is that word again - _moving on_. Such an ugly, stupid word! He hates it. His confusion is immediately swiped away with anger.

"He said he missed me" He grits through his teeth

"I am sure he was telling the truth. But do you think that missing someone means you can't move on?" 

She implies that Ian can move on. She implies that he might need to. 

"Stop saying that fucking word!" He almost shouts "I don't want to fucking move on! Why is everyone trying to make me? I'm asking you how I can get Mickey back, not how I can fucking move on!" 

"I understand, Ian. And I apologize that I used such a strong word here. But do you think we should explore the possibility that Mickey might be in a different place right now?"

It's like she kicked him.

"No!" He gets up, the chair almost falling behind him "You don't know shit! Mickey loves me, I know he does! He's coming back!" He starts pacing angrily. Dr Foster leans back, giving him space.

"I'm not suggesting he doesn't, but if we could just..." 

"You suggest that he doesn't give a shit about me anymore!" 

"Ian, this is _not_ what I'm saying" Her voice hardens a little, a hint of authority "Let's talk about why you heard it that way"

"No! I'm fucking done! You know shit about us! You've done nothing but put me down!" He marches to the hangers and tears off his jacket; throws the door open.

"Ian, please, let's us finish the session" But he's already half way out of the door"

"Ian!"

He doesn't need this shit...

 

***

The words keep playing in his mind again and again. 

_"Mickey might want to move on"_

_"Mickey might want to move on"_

_"Mickey might want to move on"_

He doesn't know how to make the voice shut up.

 

***

Mickey doesn't mean to get stuck in New Mexico for long. Not that it's a bad place - it's warm and dry; Colin's place is surprisingly nice and comfortable. It's fun watching his racist misogynist brother play happy house with Carmella and her enormous Mexican family. Mickey doesn't want to intrude on that. 

So, he plans to fuck off to Mexico at the first opportunity, but the truck "business" is a mess. It's not a business in the first place - despite his new-found fear of the law, Colin did a shit job of the paperwork. The finances are a mess as well and the schedule is non-existent. Mickey sets up the desk and an old laptop in Carmella's father back room and drowns in paperwork. He goes through every little detail, every number, every contract. He spends hours on the phone with Guerreros in Mexico, with Svetlana and Iggy in Chicago; drives around to visit all local suppliers. He fills his days with so much things to do that he barely has energy to fall into his bed at night. 

They lease another truck and find two more drivers; Colin's great with these guys - scary to force them into obedience and tolerant enough not to make it a hardship working for him. They increase the orders to all alcohol suppliers in Mexico. Fucking Manuel Delgado won't shut up for a second, but Mickey can't deny he gets them the best deals. 

A couple of weeks later Mickey realises that he's running out of stuff to do for 16 hours every day.

"Man, I thought you would never slow down" Colin says one evening "You were driving us all under the table with work"

"Wasn't that much work" he grumbles "and it had to be fucking done" 

"Could have been done slower. What's the rush? It's almost fucking Christmas..." 

"That's what you said about finishing 8th grade" Mickey retorts trying to hide his panic. 

Free time means time to think and there is only one topic that his brain keeps coming to. There is this thought that's like an earthworm crawling all over his brain. 

" _You've done something wrong. Something is fucking wrong. Turn the fuck around"_

He hasn't felt like that since the day of his wedding and that stretches his nerves thin. He ends up snapping at people everywhere he goes. 

A couple of days later, Colin catches him at the bar and pours a couple of shots of cheap whisky.

"I promised everyone to get you badly drunk tonight" He explains "People here are not used to you being a fucking asshole"

Mickey downs a shot - cheap alcohol is one solution he hasn't tried yet - but Colin's next words make him choke.

"Is it because of the fucking Gallagher?" His elder brother asks 

"The fuck do you know about it?" Mickey fight the urge to jump of the chair. Colin has been inside during that events that brought him and Ian together. He didn't even know Colin knew about the red head.

"Iggy told me" Colin explains "And Mandy. And Svetlana"

The thought of his siblings and ex-wife sitting together around a metaphorical table to discuss his love life sounds so ridiculous to his ears that he almost laughs. Chooses to scowl instead.

"They said that he always screws you over" Colin continues "What would he do? Dump your ass?" 

"That's none of your business" Mickey says through gritted teeth.

"We could beat him up" Colin offers "I know a couple of guys still in Chicago"

"Leave it, man"

"Come on! You can't allow some cheap whore Irish dirt to..."

The move is pure instinct, the shoulder driving his right fist forward towards Colin's jaw. The feel of flesh meeting flesh feels fucking good.

"SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP" Mickey shouts, pure rage raising from within him. 

If it was any other person opposite him right now they would have fallen of the high bar stool and then immediately crawled away from the murderous rage in his eyes. 

Colin wobbles in his seat and slowly rubs his cheek, thick-skinned bastard. His eyes are more confused than scared. Calmly, almost slowly, he taps Mickey on the shoulder with a light left hook and Mickey goes flying back.

"Fuck!" He springs on his feet and shakes like a dog; contemplates going for round number two, but the rage and the fight are gone from him now. Slowly he walks back towards the bar and downs the rest of his whisky. 

"Asshole..." He grits through his teeth 

"So, you don't want us to beat up Gallagher?" Colin confirms. His hand goes back to rub at his cheek so maybe Mickey's hit still smarts.

"No, I fucking don't" Mickey presses his fingers between his eyes. After a while, he says staring in the empty glass. 

"He didn't fucking do anything. He even offered to come with me" He reaches for the bottle "I told him I don't want him to... "

Colin frowns and stares at him.

"Ahh... You don't give a shit about him anymore"

Mickey scowls at his brother. Is the fucker mocking him? Colin just looks lost. 

"The fuck do you think? I just gave you a black eye for nothing?" He sighs "Of course I fucking give shit about him!"

"Ohhh..." Colin shakes his head "Then why are you being a fucking pussy?" He’s staring at him with so much confusion that Mickey snaps.

"Oh, fuck off, would you? The fuck you know about it?"

 

***

He aces the exam. The night before he's wrecked with panic - he hasn't studied enough, he barely slept, he's in no mood to do anything.

But he knows he will do well, the moment he sits down at the desk and takes a pen. Today he feels like he can conquer the world. He finishes the written part in record time and he is in the top five people to be done with the practical examination. 

The next day, after he and Sue come off the shift, Rita invites him into her office and hands him a piece of paper.

"Congratulations" she says gruffly "You are officially a paramedic" 

And despite being confident in his results, the simple praise goes straight to Ian's heart. He stares at the piece of paper, his scores, and, fuck! He's a paramedic now...

"Thanks" he looks up at Rita "Thank you, for everything"

And he hopes she knows he doesn't just mean the exam or supporting him this year. He means taking a chance on him in the first place. She stares him down sceptically begs grudgingly reaching out and petting his hand.

"You did good, kid" She turns towards her desk "I've got other news for you. The centre at Ashford is looking for junior paramedic to replace one of their own on maternity leave. They asked if they can borrow some of our people and I mentioned you"

"Oh" Ian pauses. He likes the centre, likes Rita, Sue, his other colleagues. He's comfortable here "I thought there will be paramedic places opening here"

"There will be, they are. In late February, early March. And one of these places is yours. But it's a great opportunity to start training immediately. And earning more immediately" she adds with a smile "You can think about it, if you want. The start date is right after NY, but they want you there next week to start shadowing"

"No, I'll do it" Ian nods "Thank you"

Sue is lingering just outside the office and he can guess she knows what was the topic based on her smile.

"Want to go out for drinks to celebrate?"

"Sorry, damn school events. Rain check?"

Ian nods, but he's in too good of a mood to just go home. He wanders the streets for a while, despite the cold and the wind. He's still buzzed from the success, from conversation with Rita, from the prospect of change. 

Impulsively he reaches out and starts scrolling his contacts; gets stuck between Mandy and Nick_the Barber. A wall of cold slams into him. He has been doing it constantly in the last several weeks - searching for a phantom contact to call. He's not had Mick's number for a long while; deleted it the day they... the day he broke up with Mick. After watching police cars driving down the street, he went upstairs in his room, laid down on the bed, scrolled to the last call he has placed and pressed delete; closed his eyes and gave in into feeling nothing.

He flips his phone open and presses one of the speed dials.

"Hey, you reached Lip Gallagher. I can't talk right now, but..." of course his brother is in the middle of exams. It feels weird trying to talk about his exams in a message, like it's some big news, so he just hangs up. Fiona doesn't answer either - a week before Christmas rush at Patties must be keeping her busy. Debbie ends up busy too, a hot date; she vaguely congratulates him on the exam results, though he's almost sure she doesn't know what he's talking about. He has ridiculous notion to call Carl before he remembers that he wouldn't have access to his phone during the weekday.  

 

***

He ends up at one of the bars he and Trevor used to go to from time to time. It's still early in the day, quiet and for a while Ian just sits at the bar drinking. It kills his buzz a little, the dark thoughts of the previous weeks coming back. 

"The seat's taken?" Dark haired guy, cute smile, tight jeans. Ian shakes his head.

"A guy like you, what are you doing here all alone"

"Celebrating. Just passed my exams" Ian explains "I'm training to be a paramedic"

"Cool!" The guy's eyes sparkle "So do you like save lives?"

"Not every day, but kind off" The guy's eyes sparkle mischievously. 

"Why are you alone? Don't you have people to celebrate with?"

"Nobody else seems to give a damn" Ian explains begrudgingly.  

"A guy like you? It's their loss!" His drinking companion smiles coyly and Ian feels strangely pleased. 

"What about you?" He feels obliged to return the curiosity

"I'm freelancer, doing some tech stuff from home. Just felt a bit lonely myself, I guess" He smiles in conspiracy. It's a cute sight.

"Listen, this doesn't seem like a proper place to celebrate. Want to move on somewhere more exciting?"

Ian hesitates for a second. But the guy is cute and Ian hasn't gotten laid in a while, and if he doesn't want the guy, he wants what he can offer him. And what the fuck he's even  _waiting_  for? For Mickey to come back and forgive him like Ian's some kind of pet? If Mickey wanted him, he would have been here and now. Fuelled by anger and sexual frustration he gets up. 

 

***

They go to Boystown and party until early morning hours and Ian has vague memories of fucking his new acquaintance in the bathroom of some club. He vaguely remembers it being fun ( _he's never bottoming again ever! Topping is so much fun!_ ).  He wakes up groggy and hangover, bitter taste in his mouth and ugly thoughts in his head. It feels like betrayal and regret all wrapped up in terrible longing - his typical companions these days. Only it's amplified tenfold, like a payback for his yesterday bravado and attempt to forget. He barely manages to get out of the bed to take his pills ( _did he take them yesterday? He can't quite remember..._ ). He goes back to bed, curls on his side and tries not to think.

" _Mickey will come back_ " It doesn't sound convincing to his own ears anymore.

 

***

Guerreros made him swear to spend Christmas with them so on the 20th of December Mickey loads his truck with some American stuff and drives the familiar route. It's good to be back at Santa Theresa. He's happy to discover that Hector hasn’t completely screwed up the factory finances in a month he's been gone, that all the workers are still where he left them and that everything seems to be running smoothly. Hector, of course, is convinced that the next apocalypse is just around the corner, but no matter how his dramatism grates on Mickey's nerves he can't make himself be angry about it.

He can't make himself be angry about a lot of things. The way Jorge and Anna try to monopolize his time; the way Miguel drags him around on all his adventures; the way Regina and senora Guerrero watch him like a hawk and try to kill him with food. He's pleasantly surprised to see Jonathan at the bar, trying to play cards with the locals.  He missed it, missed the people, the scenery, the factory; missed the simplicity of life here. 

It's the same place where three months ago he would have called himself content, almost happy. And, yet, he can't fucking enjoy it fully. 

Because there is shadow following him around wherever he goes. It walks the familiar streets with him, drives along in the passenger seat, lays next to him in bed at night, sits at the huge Christmas table.

It's tall and built like a God, it looks like an alien with bright orange hair and skin covered in freckles. Sometimes it smiles at him shyly; sometimes it stares down at him, chin stuck out in stubbornness. Sometimes it's holding a blond toddler in his arms and the pair of them are laughing loudly joyously. 

Universe is a fucking bitch, he knows. He left Chicago so that he can have time to think, to separate the past from the present, to avoid falling into familiar feelings. He escaped Chicago to escape Ian. And yet his fucking brain just decided to take Ian with him. Wherever he goes - his favourite beaches, his house in Puerto Vallarta, factory, Guerreros' terrace - Ian is with him. And at the same time he's not, and Mickey _misses_  him, so fucking much.

He can't get their last meeting out of his head. 

_"I'm not going to give up on you, Mickey"_

_"Can I come with you?"_

_"I'm waiting for you this time, Mick"_

It's like all his dreams rolled into one, taunting him with endless possibilities. 

And yet, there is also that worry that settled somewhere deep in his stomach, a whisper of memory - Ian's too thin face, the ghost of darkness around his eyes, the tightness around his mouth. The worry rattles inside his brain.

"Ian is fine" he says to himself "he survived two years without you. He has everything under control, he has his family. He doesn't fucking need you" But the worry persists.

On Christmas Eve he Skypes with Svetlana and Yevgeny and watches as Iggy helps delighted Yevy to unwrap the gift from Mickey - this time delivered via proper mail. He's not much of a talker, hates the phone and feels stupid seeing himself on the video. But he doesn't want to hang up; feels almost sad when it's time to finish the call so Yevy can go back to bed. 

Mandy texts him too - she refused to join either of the Milkoviches during Christmas claiming to be busy. The cagey behaviour sets Mickey’s nerves on edge, but her words are upbeat and they exchange messages for a good 10 minutes, which by Milkovich standard is an equivalent of hours-long conversation. 

Afterwards, Mickey lies on his bed watching the old fan rattle under the light breeze above his head; he's safe, warm and well-fed; he can hear laughter and music coming through the open window; he knows he can go downstairs to join in the fun whenever he wants. 

" _I'm not going to give up on you, Mickey"_

_"Can I come with you?"_

_"I'm waiting for you this time, Mick"_

 

***

"Do you know what I thought when you first came here?"  Antonio asks him one evening. It's Monday, a couple of days after Christmas and the bar is dead - local population are still recovering from the festive tables. At some point the older man grabs a bottle and a couple of glasses and motions Mickey to the terrace. It's cold by local standards, but Antonio's thick-skinned and any local temperature feels like summer to Mickey.

Mickey inclines his head, let's Antonio speak.

"I thought you were the most unhappy man I've ever seen"  

"The fuck do you mean?" Mickey stares him down, challenging, almost itching for a fight. Antonio looks back non-pulsed, like he knows all the bullshit Mickey is going to pull and just patiently waiting until they can get on the other side of it.

"When you first came here you were bitter, scarred, angry.” Mickey snorts “You used to have this look around you... like you've been to the gates of heaven and then lost it"

That gets to him, words painful and the ex-con looks away, trying not to remember those days.

"And then I saw that change, saw you calming down. At some point I thought - he made a home here, he can even grow to be happy here"

"You going somewhere with this?" Mickey asks bitterly "I was on the run from the fucking feds, had no money, no future, no home. You bet I was fucking angry and unhappy"

"And now you are free and yet you look like you lost something all over again?" Antonio asks plainly and Mickey freezes.  _Fucking son of a bitch_ , he thinks. And he can get up and walk away, but he doesn't. He stays silent for a long time; Antonio lets him and that Mickey appreciates. 

"It's not that I lost something" he admits "It's that I decided not to fucking have it" 

 _"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck turn around!"_ He stomps on his inner voice and tries to stomp it out.

 _"_ "It's too fucking... Too much stuff happened, too quickly...He screwed me over too many times. I don't want it anymore..."

Antonio doesn't call him a pussy; he just shrugs.

"As long as you are happy, Mickey..." The words grate on his nerves and he looks up sharply. 

"I'm not fucking happy, ok?  I can't fucking think of anything else!" Mickey downs a shot angrily "He's here, with me, all the fucking time! He's fucking everywhere"

"You don't want him to be?" Antonio asks and Mickey squeezes his eyes shut. 

"Of course, I fucking want him!" He admits "I just..."

He shrugs helplessly.  They sit silent for awhile until Antonio speaks.

"We would like you to stay here, Mickey. We are used to having you around; the kids will miss you. Everybody will" Mickey turns away, it's hard for him to be that emotional "But you should do what makes you happy. You should do what feels right" 

 

***

Gallagher Christmas is just as messy, loud and insane as usual. The tables are full with food, the alcohol is flowing, the music is blaring. The house are full of people - it's the first time in many years when Balls don't need to spend at the Alibi.  

It’s Thanksgiving all over again. Ian wants to turn around and run from all this happiness the moment he crosses the threshold. 

"Hey, dude" Carl's voice has grown even deeper and Ian swears he grew half a head taller in the last four months. He wears the same expression of bored indifference he's had since he was a little kid.

"Hey, man!" Ian steps forward and hugs his brother briefly, slaps his backs couple of times. It's the first time in weeks he feels even a tiniest bit of warmth.

He spends the rest of the day in Carl's company, sharing beer and smokes, listening to his stories about college; finds himself actually laughing out loud at the antics and adventures of horny teenagers. Liam joins them, bored of girl's chatter in the kitchen and Lip's stories about college. The play the video games for hours before Fiona calls them to the table. 

There is moment there, sitting around the old table, surrounded by his family, in the house he grew up in, when Ian feels peaceful and content. And then a second later, sadness pierces his heart, hard and unyielding; he feels so deeply terribly alone that he almost doubles over.

"You ok?" Liam tags on his sleeve and Ian looks down at his little brother, wonders how 7-year olds eyes can be so wise and expressive. 

"Yeah... yeah, buddy" He leans down and presses a kiss to the crown of Liam's head like he used to do when he was still a toddler "I'm fine" 

Later that evening he sneaks out of the house and makes way through snow covered streets to the Alibi. The bar is closed, but he can see the lights in the upstairs apartment and the outline of a Christmas tree.

It takes awhile for Svetlana to open the door. There is no anger from their earlier meetings in her eyes when she sees him, just quiet resign. 

"Carrot top" she greets him. 

"Hey" he swallows "I wanted to wish you and Yevy Merry Christmas"

"It's late" she says, not a complaint, just a statement.

"I know, I'm sorry, I just..." Hurriedly he digs out a wrapped box out of his backpack "I brought a gift for Yevgeny" 

Svetlana stares at the box for a long time before she cautiously takes it.

"It's just some toys and books... I didn't know what he would like, but ..." Ian stops himself from rambling and takes a deep breath "Can I see him?"

Svetlana looks at him for a long while, her cat-like eyes unnerving.

"For how long?"

"Just a few minutes.. I know it's late... I just..."

"No. For how long do you plan on doing it? Coming here, trying to see Yevgeny, trying to make him love you again. If he never comes back, for how long will you continue before abandoning us?"

She might as well have hit him with a hammer. Air rushes out of his lungs and suddenly he feels cold in every cell in his body.

"I... He'll come back..." he wishes he sounded convincing to his own ears 

"Maybe, maybe not... I can't bet my son's happiness on that" And with that she gently shuts the door in his face. 

 

***

When he enters the old Gallagher house, Fiona's the only one in the kitchen; the sounds of TV and laughter coming from the living room.

"Hey, where've you been?" She smiles at him gently and for a moment he wants to throw himself into her arms. 

"Out for walk" He takes of his jacket "Hey... do you mind if I stay here tonight?" 

"Of course!" She frowns slightly "Is everything ok? I fight want to ask, but Trevor didn't show up and I was wondering…"

"Trevor's fine" The lie comes out easily at this point "I’m just not in the mood to go anywhere else"

"Sure" she steps away from the counter "Hey, I know we haven't really celebrated it, but you know how proud I am of you?" She puts her hands on his shoulders. Her breath smells of alcohol and her hair of the floral shampoo, the scent ingrained in his brains from before he could remember himself.

"About your exams and you job, about all the choices you've made" her eyes get a bit misty "You got dealt a shitty ticket in life, Ian. Thanks to fucking Monica. But you are not her. She made shitty fucking choices. You... you are doing everything right, Ian"

She envelopes him in a bone-crashing hug, her body swaying a little. After a moment Ian hugs her back, buries his face in her hair and tries to make the comfort of the embrace dull the pain that her words cause. 

 

***

Ian remembers lying in this same bed two years ago, after getting out of the hospital, and feeling absolutely, terribly alone. He remembers thinking through the woolly fog in his head  _”Mickey isn't coming back"_. He remembers thinking that there is no point in anything anymore. 

Funny, how no matter what he does life seems to bring him to the same place over and over again. He understands now, something that he's been trying to deny for the last three weeks. 

_"Mickey isn't coming back"_

There will be no door opening behind his back, no sound of light steps; no one will come to hold him together. 

So, he closes his eyes and welcomes the fog and thinks that this is it. Finally. The apathy is here, it has come to take everything away.

 

***

"Will you fucking slow down?" He and Miguel climb the hills over the old cartel compound. 

Miguel stops and waits for him to catch up, clearly impatient, not a bit tired. Fucking show-off Mickey grumbles under his breath when he finally-finally makes it on top. 

The site looks abandoned from above though Mickey knows there are still DEA agents in place. He can see the haphazardly repaired back gate that Miguel and Hector took down in the saviour mission. For a moment, Mickey's back in that moment, crawling under the sea of bullets, desperate to survive. 

"Fucking kicked their asses, hmm?" Miguel claps him on the shoulder and Mickey can't hold back a grin.

_Fucking kicked their asses, indeed..._

"Come on, I'll show you what I found" Mickey tags him towards another path and Mickey follows begrudgingly. 

"What it was like? Going back home after all the time?" The young Mexican asks, his legs eating the hill like it's nothing. 

"What home? That shithole is the place where I was born; doesn't mean it's my home" Mickey doesn't want to think about it now, the entire purpose of this trip is _not_ to think. 

"Home is where the heart is" Miguel says in Spanish and Mickey his breath hitch. Damn hills! 

"You are fucking Hallmark now?" He mocks his companion

"So, what if it's cliched?" Miguel shakes his head "Doesn't mean it's wrong, Mickey. Is there nobody back...?"

"Are we fucking here yet?" Mickey interrupts him " _Shut up, Miguel"_

"Yeah" Miguel turns right "Here!"

It's a makeshift shooting range. Probably made by cartel's guys who drove up here to train their aim in private. It's huge and well-organised, human shapes made out of carton placed at perfect distance to train. Mickey whistles - that's a long way from his childhood place under the L. 

"I thought you could help me practice my aim" Miguel shrugs "Jonathan let me keep his gun, said he doesn't need it anymore"

"I fucking bet" Mickey scowls; but he could never resist a good gun practice. 

They fall into a pattern - select a range, load, fire, repeat. It's familiar and calming; Mickey's mind is almost on the border of going blank, but not quiet. 

"What about Ian? Did you see him?" Miguel asks when they next reload and Mickey's thumb catches on safety. He doesn't remember ever mentioning Ian by name. 

"Fuck!" He sucks on his thumb and stares at Miguel. The young Mexican shrugs.

"You called me Ian when you were shot, while we were driving to the hospital. Talked about coming to Mexico with him. I put two and two together" 

Mickey grits his teeth. Has he called for Ian when he thought he was dying? Fucking probably... Who else would he call for during hard times??

He turns around and cocks his gun. 

Ian, thoughts of Ian, saved him in prison...  Even when he doesn't mean to, even he's not fucking here, the redhead saves him.

_Fucking left me behind! Fucker!!!_

He empties all six rounds. 

_Nobody fucking ever hurt him like Ian did!_

Six rounds, reload!

But then has he ever hurt anyone like he hurt Ian?

_"You are nothing but a warm mouth to me!"_

_"Everybody fucks Angie!"_

_"Just because I'm getting married, doesn't mean we can't still bang"_

_"You think I'm going to chase after you like some bitch?"_

Hit. Hit. Hit.

Ian has given him plenty of chances... 

 

***

"You are afraid" Says Jonathan on the way back to Santa Theresa. 

"Aren't you supposed to ask me shitload of questions first before you make a diagnosis?" Mickey throws him a nasty gaze sideways.

"Only if I were still a real doctor" Jonathan takes out a small flask; he's managed to stay surprisingly sober at the Guerreros - probably a dignity thing. 

"I'm not afraid" Mickey argues

"Course, you are" He takes the first gulp and closes his eyes "You would be a fool not to be. Somebody crashes your heart, abandons you several times - no amount of promises and confessions is going to cure it"

Mickey's stays silent for a while. 

"So, what do I do then?" Which is yes, as close to admitting fear as he's going to come. 

"Well, you always have two choices - you either allow fear to protect you or you decide to fight it" 

"Very fucking helpful" Mickey mutters

"Not a real shrink anymore" Jonathan reminds him; closes the flask and puts it away.

 

***

The apathy doesn't come. In fact, he wakes up refreshed and energized and, almost happy. The house is still asleep, and he uses an opportunity to do a proper exercise in the living room. By the time his hungover siblings make it down the stairs, he's already cleaned away the mess and prepared a breakfast. They eat it all together, just like they used to when they were younger, laughing and joking.

Maybe, it's not such a bad deal, Ian thinks when he's jogging to his own place in the afternoon, maybe he just shouldn't think about Mickey and all this shit. His phone buzzes.

"Hey, 9-inches wonder. Got plans tonight or are you out saving lives?" The pretty IT freelancer from the bar; clearly Ian left an impression. He doesn't hesitate before typing back.

 

***

Mickey invites Colin, Carmella and Iggy to spend New Year’s in Puerto Vallarta, partly as an apology for his screwed up behaviour.

He's seen public celebration in Puerto Vallarta before, but nothing compares to New Year’s Eve. The entire beach is lit with fireworks and lights; the alcohol flowing freely and the music blaring from every corner. Even in his grumpiest of moods Mickey can't resist being swapped away by the festivities.

"Mickey!" Paolo makes his way across the crowded bar to him. They haven't really seen each other since Mickey left for Mexico City in November "You are back!"

He leans into a kiss automatically before remembering that the ex-con doesn't do it. He settles on patting his knee instead. Mickey orders them both a drink. The young Mexican looks gorgeous, an open top hugging his muscular chest like a second skin. They laugh and joke, Paolo sharing funny stories about the locals. Its fucking hot in the bar and Mickey watches the droplets of ice water from the glass slide down the young Mexican throat when he drinks. Paolo catches his gaze and smiles flirtatiously, licks his lips. His hand starts slowly moving up from Mickey's knee towards his crotch.

It's a fucking gorgeous night in a gorgeous place with a gorgeous guy and... 

For most of his life the world has been a messy, confusing, infuriating place full of terrible choices; for most part it still is. But there are moments of clarity sometimes, when everything becomes simple, clear, complete. When the right way is instinctive.

This is one of these moments. 

Mickey takes Paolo's hand off his thigh and gets up; throws some money on the table. He doesn't offer any explanation - no answer is enough of the answer in most cases.

He walks along the water towards his place - it's a good half an hour walk, but he doesn't mind; he has nowhere to hurry. He stands on his porch and watches the white waves sparkle in the darkness of the night, sees fireworks explode in the skies. 

There is no choice, he realizes, at least not at this moment. All the choices that mattered he's already made - in his bedroom sitting on top of a scrawny alien with red hair; in the Alibi after his son's christening day; in the old Gallagher house; at baseball field, in prison cell... 

He's already made all choices and now there is no choice to make. Because the truth is simple...

_The truth is simple no matter how many times he tries to deny it. He loves Ian Gallagher. He will always love Ian Gallagher. He will never give up on Ian Gallagher._

 

***

The music beats around him and Ian's flying. That's what it feels like - his body is weightless, pulsing with energy and life. He can conquer the world right now! No, no, no! Screw the world! Who cares about the world? 

"Damn, you are wild!" Some guy puts his hands on his hips and tries to move together with him. Ian shakes him off - he's free, he doesn't want anyone weighting him down. The clocks start beeping and the crowd around him starts counting back.

"Twelve! Eleven! Ten" He's done making the right choices! 

"Nine! Eight! Seven!" Right choices brought him nothing! Nothing but a broken heart and annoying therapists calling non-stop!

"Six! Five! Four!" Screw then! Screw them all! He's going to learn to fly! No, to dive! Diving is so much better! He already flew a helicopter once...

"Fuck off!" He shakes off another hand wrapping around his waist.

"Three! Two! One!" He's fucking flying...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a couple of things!
> 
> 1) I hope the scene with the therapist comes across as intended. I did not want to paint her a villain - actually, she's trying to make Ian stop blaming himself. But, remember he's only been seeing her for a short while, she does not know all his triggers - and in this situation she miscalculated 
> 
> 2) Gallaghers - they do love each other truly, they mean well... But sometimes they can approach it so badly...


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He makes it to Chicago in less than two days. He plans to sleep it off first, check in with Svetlana and the Alibi. But is soon as familiar Chicago signs starts appearing on the highway, he knows that’s not going to work. He parks at the first rest stop, lights up a smoke and fishes out his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, if you are getting tired of angst, wait until Chapter 20 is out...

_Late January, Chicago_

 

***

Mickey is upstairs playing with Yevgeny when he hears Svetlana yell. It’s been about a week since he moved back to Chicago and started spending time with his kid properly and it’s ... nice. 

He knows he will never win a father of the year award; is not even sure he has a right to call himself Yev’s father; is not even sure he wants to. But surprisingly he enjoys playing with the boy and having him around. And it amazes him how easy Yev just ... accepts him for the lack of the better word. He’s pretty sure his son has no memory of him from his early childhood. The tentative bond of affection that had started forming between them got broken when all the shit with Ian and Sammy went down. The very moment Mickey discovered he might care for his son he got put away to prison. And while now he is slowly rediscovering his feelings and rebuilds affection - hesitant, unsure and often lost - it seems that Yevgeny experiences no such problem. He welcomes him with a toothy smile, laughs during their playtime and hugs him freely. This open trust makes him ache sometimes with regret for his and Mandy’s and Iggy’s and Colin’s own fucked up childhood and he wows to help preserve his son’s innocence. He might never feel like a father should, but it doesn’t mean he can’t be here to protect and care. 

His relationship with Svetlana are surprisingly almost as easy if completely different. He’s pretty sure she still despises his guts and the feeling’s almost mutual. Yet they both know that he had bailed her out of a shitty situation and saved the bar she seems to care so much about. And while sometimes she resents him for interfering into the business, she seems to have started respecting him for it, albeit grudgingly. And he’s done good on his promise to keep out of her side of the enterprise even now that he’s back in town. He supplies alcohol at low prices, crunches the numbers for the bar and the truck business, and provides physical threat to back up Svetlana’s psychological intimidation. She manages the bar and does her marketing shit that apparently goes down so well with fucking hipsters. It works. Of course, they still trade insults back and forth non-stop and he occasionally hears her muttering something about the size of his dick ( _which is not even fucking true, damn it!_ ). He has no delusions that she would not throw him under the bus if anything ever turned upside down. But he appreciates that she lets him back into Yev’s life and she seems almost happy to have a business and parental partner now that her relationship with the crazy Balls (Mickey still can’t get over how funny this entire thrupple thing is) is done for good.

So yeah, it’s nice and the only problem is that all this - spending time with a Yevgeny, bickering with Svet, living at the fucking Milkovich house - everything so painfully reminds him of those several months when Ian was living with him and they felt so fucking happy. And he can't help but worry...

 

***

The trial is a long, boring, seemingly never-ending affair. The minute it ends Mickey gets in the car and drives to the border. He's already said his goodbyes and finished his business. He sleeps over in New Mexico, checks with Iggy and Colin; gives Iggy the keys to his place in Puerto Vallarta. He gathers after a couple of months dealing with Svetlana his brother deserves a bit of a break. 

He makes it to Chicago in less than two days. He plans to sleep it off first, check in with Svetlana and the Alibi. But is soon as familiar Chicago signs starts appearing on the highway, he knows that’s not going to work. He parks at the first rest stop, lights up a smoke and fishes out his phone.

He hovers over a contact that he got from Mandy a couple weeks before. How many times during the trial, laying in his bed in the shitty hotel room he wanted to press "call"? How many times did he stop himself? What would he say; how could he say everything that was on his mind? Better do it face to face, better do it here and now...

He dials Ian's number.

It goes straight to voicemail. 

 

***

It takes three days and 15 unanswered messages for worry to take root in Mickey's stomach. He fights it as much as he can - Ian has all the right in the world to ignore Mickey if he wants to. 

He goes to Ian's EMT station, but learns he's been temporary transferred to another place - they don't share personal details, of course.

On day five, he says screw it, and walks familiar road to the Gallagher house.

Last time he did it, he run so fast, he covered it in less than 5 minutes. The memory of it is so stark that he almost expects to see Ian sitting on the front porch. But it's empty and when he knocks on the door, it's Debbie who opens it. She's grown, he thinks in passing, but his attention is fixed on the little girl in her arms, red hair and freckles face. The resemblance to Ian is almost shocking.

"Mickey!" Debbie's voice almost squeaks. He gathers it's natural, after all the last time they saw each other she helped him to get rid of a dead body "What are you doing here?"

"Ian's home?" He asks without bullshitting

"No, he's..." She stares at him wide eyed

“Well?” He urges, her expression making him feel uncomfortable.

"Debbs, who is it?" a voice from the inside of the house

"Great!" Mickey shakes his head "It's getting better and better"

Lip's expression hardens as soon as he sees him. 

"The fuck you are doing here?" He's forgotten how arrogant the son of the bitch could sound.

"I need to see Ian. He's home?"

"No" Lip responds curtly

"You know where I can find him?" The fucker stares him down. Mickey squeezes his jaws together so hard, his teeth hurt.

"He's not answering his phone" 

"Maybe it's a sign he doesn't want to see you?" Mickey ignores the desire to deck the elder Gallagher in the head  - it's probably not going to help much in the grand scheme of things. 

"You going to tell me where he is or not?" He wonders angrily

"Go fuck yourself, Mickey!" Lip shuts the door into his face suddenly.

Mickey stares at it angrily for a moment, fights the urge to break it down. The fuck is wrong with that family?

 

***

With his head pre-occupied with the redhead hearing Svetlana yell from downstairs in her awful accent makes his heart constrict for a second with longing for days long past.

"Get the fuck down here!"

"What?" He yells back mostly just to be obnoxious, but of course Svetlana ignores him. Resigned to whatever bullshit it is he stomps downstairs

"Fucking what?"

"This one..." she motions her head towards the bar "is here for you. Don't be long" she moves around him to go upstairs "We need to open soon"

But Mickey isn’t paying her any attention because there is none other but Lip fucking Gallagher standing in the middle of his bar. 

"The fuck you are doing here?" he asks, doesn’t try to hid aggression in his voice

"I need to talk to you" Ian's brother says in that cocky manner of his when he believes his desires rule the world. Mickey crosses his arms.

"Well, you said quite enough already, Gallagher, so you can go fuck yourself now"

"Look, I know we hadn’t taken off on the right foot yesterday" The eldest Gallagher persists "But I need to know what do you want from Ian. Because one minute you are telling him to go to hell then two months later you are back in Chicago - permanently I heard!"

"I didn’t tell him..." Mickey starts but stops himself and throws his arms "You know what, fuck it! I’ve had it with you Gallaghers and your interfering ways! It is none of your fucking business what is happening between Ian and myself"

"Oh, I don’t know, Mickey" Lip's temper gets the best of him and he strolls closer to the Milkovich "Every time you enter Ian’s life he ends up heartbroken and I end up picking up the pieces. Kind of makes it my business"

"Fuck you" Mickey leans heavily on the bar that now separates them "you could probably check who is on the hurting end here"

"Oh, poor Mickey, he finally gets a taste of what it is like to be heartbroken!" He really layers it on and Mickey is so tempted to clock him. And it seems that Lip almost wants him to, though God knows why.

"Jesus Christ! I don’t need this shit. The only reason I even came to see your sorry ass is because Ian’s been answering his phone and I don’t know his new address. But clearly you are useless..." suddenly a thought crosses his mind and it's like somebody three a bucket of ice cold water into his back. 

"He’s not ..." he pauses looking for a word that doesn’t diminish Ian "... he has not had an episode, has he? Is he in a fucking hospital and this is why his phone’s dead?"

"No" But there is something in his expression that doesn’t allow Mickey to relax "he’s not in hospital"

Suddenly it looks as if all the energy and aggression drains from the eldest Gallagher. He asks almost hopefully.

"So, you haven’t heard from him? He hasn’t contacted you at all?" Mickey shakes his head. The cold in his spine spreads out to his stomach; almost unconsciously he matches Lip’s posture on the other side of the bar.

"Last time we spoke was almost two months ago, here" He says simply, not bothering to waste time on insults.

Because something is fucking  _wrong_

"What the fuck is the problem?" he grits through clenched teeth, his fists curling against the unseen opponent. But what comes next is so much worse than he expected.

"The problem is that nobody knows where Ian is. He had an episode, but didn’t go to a hospital. He disappeared"

 

***

They end up sitting at one of the tables in the back, a glass of whisky in front of Mickey, Lip's getting by with cold coffee. They have been silent for the last 5 minutes. There are thousands of questions in Mickeys head and panic in his stomach, and as usual in these moments, communication fails him. 

"When?" asks finally

"I’m not sure exactly" Lip doesn’t meet his gaze "But approximately a month ago, probably right after Christmas"

What!?" That's so far away from what he imagined "and you haven’t found him yet?" the dread creeps up his spine

"We actually... didn’t know that he was missing until about a week ago" At Mickey’s incredulous gaze he bites "It’s complicated! OK?"

"Then fucking explain" And Lip does

"Look, Ian moved out at the end of the summer. He’s been having some conflicts with Fi and it just felt like it was time to move on that with his job secure and steady income"

"Fiona and I had our concerns, but he seemed fine and able to handle it. It all worked out for the best, it seemed. His apartment was to the east of here, about 5 minutes by L. Not exactly north side, but a nice area, a tiny studio but his own, you know? Most organised place..."

"I’m not exactly interested in prime real estate, Gallagher. The fuck it matters?"

"I’m trying to explain to you why we all thought Ian was doing well!" A bit of aggression is back in Lip's voice, but it’s short lived, maybe because he realises the ridiculousness of what he’s saying - a nice apartment as a proof of Ian’s happiness. As if Ian ever cared about things like that...

"Anyway, we all were pretty busy in those months. Fiona is really investing in the apartment building, spends her time there. I got another chance at college, it’s just a trial and I need to combine it with other stuff, but ... And Carl’s at military school and Debbie’s had a terrible accident in September so she was really busy with Franny and trying to figure her shit out so..."

"So, you fucking forgot that Ian exists?" Mickey bites out

"No, but forgive us for not checking up on him every 5 minutes. And we thought he had a support system -  Trevor, his friends and colleagues. Apparently, Trevor and he broke up sometime in October.

“Who the fuck is Trevor?” Mickey asks and regrets it the next second because, the answer is so obvious

“His boyfriend” Lip looks away momentarily “Anyway, I managed to track him down - things have been going terribly with them. Ian’s been behaving weirdly, avoiding him; they kept fighting and then Ian just broke up with him"

A small, vindictive part of Mickey can’t help but snicker at the situation - a so-called great boyfriend ended up being not so perfect. But a much bigger part wishes he had a time machine so that he could travel back to October, get on a plane to Chicago when Ian was unravelling and fucking _stop_ it. He knows it’s wistful thinking - back in October he was still deep in his shit in Mexico hanging on his life and believing he will never see Ian again and being at peace with it to some extent. But the part of his brain that loves Ian is not rational or consistent so wish for a time machine he does. 

"According to Trevor" Lip continues meanwhile "it doesn’t sound like Ian was manic at that time, no crazy running around like a happy energiser bunny"

Mickey winces at the word though he knows it is how mania looks from the outside.

"On the opposite he was often sad, but not down. He was angry all the time, anxious... I have no idea what it means..."

"Mixed state" murmurs Mickey and remembers Jonathan's voice in the dark of the night talking about his wife.

_“And even when you are not manic and not depressed there is a bitch called mixed state that’s always ready to spring on you_

_“Fuck's that?”_

_“It’s like depression on the rocks. You are down one minute, up the next. But it's not a good up, not happy. You are down but you have normal level energy so it just turns to hate and anger. And sometimes the only outlet for these is inside you. So, you walk around looking and behaving relatively normally, but inside you are brimming with despair. And sometime this despair... and trying to do something about it.... My wife, she found the bridge”_

Was it what Ian had been going through? Was he in a mixed state when they saw each other or was he falling into a mania already?

Mickey becomes aware of Lip repeating his name, shakes off the memory and focuses on what’s important now. 

"When is the last time you saw him?" Mickey asks instead

"Christmas" Lip’s voice is quiet and Mickey sucks in a breath "He seemed fine, ok? Calm and balanced and ... you know Ian, he’s quiet, he doesn’t often share"

Quiet Ian is not something that Mickey remembers. In his mind the redhead is always-always yapping about something. But he knows that it’s a part of Ian that few people are familiar with. 

"Carl hang out with him over holidays a little bit and thought that Ian had a lot on his mind, but we just figured out that it was because of you. And after that, it was so busy for all of us...."

"Stop fucking making excuses, hmm?" Mickey lashes out without meaning to. He blames Lip, he does, but it’s his own guilt raising its ugly head as well. He knew Ian was not all right when they last spoke, remembers choosing to ignore it because it wasn’t his business anymore. Can’t help thinking about how much his rejection and behaviour pushed Ian down the slope.

"I’m not" Lip stares him in the eyes for the first time since the conversation started "I know I fucked up. He ignored a couple of my calls, but I wasn’t worried, ok? Fiona talked with him briefly in early Jan inviting him to dinner, but he begged off because he was busy. Look, it’s just that we haven’t seen much of him since he moved out, ok? It felt normal"

"Then how did you find out he was missing. With your stellar family relationships?" Lip swallows this one which kind of shows how deeply his own guilt runs. He turns away again and has to clear his throat a couple of times before continuing 

"Last week Fiona got a call from Ian’s landlord" she is indicated as next of kin on the form "he asked her to take away some shit Ian apparently left over. A lot of shit actually... It ... it appears that Ian stopped paying his rent and terminated his tenancy a month ago. And before that..."

Mickey swallows impatiently

"He was clearly manic, Mick. Had parties every night from 3 to 7 am, never slept, tried to destroy the apartment door, painted the kitchen bright blue. The landlord had to use the deposit to cover the expenses"

"What about his work?" asks Mickey "I didn’t know which EMT station he’s with now"

"I checked with the EMT. He didn’t come back after the Christmas break. Hasn’t answered any calls either"

"And the shit he left at his landlord... there was most of his stuff, books, magazines, clothes. It seems like he left with only a backpack of stuff. His pills too... they were all there..."

They are silent for a moment before Mickey explodes 

"Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that yesterday, shithead?" fuming, afraid, worried...

"I don’t know" Lip admits uncharacteristically "I thought  that with everything that went down with you and Ian, it’s not a good idea"

"Oh, and today it is? Thought you were supposed to be a genius, hmm?"

"Shut up, ok? Yes, I screwed up. The question is if you care about Ian to help us find him! Fiona tried to declare him missing, but he’s an adult so the police doesn’t give a fuck. And I’ve been doing all I could think off, but if we assume he’s manic he could literally be anywhere in the States by now. So, if you have any ideas..."

"If it wasn’t for your stupidity I would have started looking yesterday" Mickey bites out. Lip blinks and apparently accepts it as an agreement to help. Mickey pauses, takes a gulp of his drink. His heart is going a mile an hour, but he forces himself to calm down "What have you found out so far?"

"Well, good news is that he’s not in any hospital, morgue or mental institution in Chicago"

Mickey freezes because that hadn’t even occurred to him. Ian, even manic Ian, is resourceful to the point of being canning, he’s not easy to get rid of. It’s emotional damage that his worried about, but clearly Lip is anticipating the worst

"I checked a couple of gay clubs, the ones I know he frequented, but nothing. They haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks at least"

"What about Boystown?" Mickey forces himself to think about all options

"Haven’t found out anything" He will have to press onto them harder. 

"What about your crazy mother? Could he be with her?"

"Hmm..." Lip looks down "Monica is kind of dead, has been for a while"

"What?" Mickey shouldn’t be surprised but he is "when the fuck did it happen?"

"Over a year ago... actually right when Ian was returning from Mexico"

"Shit..." Mickey pauses processing, thinks about Ian coming home to find his mother dead and winces "Shit...Ian, did he take it hard?"

"Nah" Lip looks surprised at the question "we all knew it was bound to happen sooner or later. Fucking Monica, you know, we are way better without her in our lives. He was a bit more touched than the rest of us, but he got over it quickly"

Mickey wonders whether he’s blind or ignorant. He hated Monica himself, always felt she had the worst influence on Ian, but he couldn’t deny that Ian was close to his mom, probably closer than any of his siblings. 

"I need the name of the place she’s buried in, plus Ian’s old address, plus names of his colleagues, that guy Travis he was dating and any other shithead you can think of that Ian could have exchanged a word with in the last year"

"You are now a master detective?" Lip enquiries, but it’s more of a formality than real go at. They both know that Mickey has more experience finding people and that’s not surprising given that Terry’s racket business has produced a lot of runaways. 

Wordlessly Micky passes on a napkin for Lip to write on and the elder Gallagher starts scribbling commenting on what he had done so far. It is not much, not from Mickeys perspective, especially if you disregard the hours calling hospitals and morgues. Ian is not dead, of that Mickey is certain. Lip did manage to hack Ian’s email account and bank statements though, so Micky doesn’t have to worry about high tech stuff, but there is nothing important there at first glance. Lip asks Mickey if he has an email address he can send it to and is mildly surprised to learn that yes, he does now. 

"I will send it over as soon as I get back to campus. I was planning to look at them tonight and tomorrow more thoroughly"

You fucking do that" Mickey says. 

"What are you going to do?" asks Lip standing up "you’ll call if you find something, right?"

"The fuck do you think?" Mickey asks and they leave it at that, neither a promise nor a denial. 

 

***

After Lip leaves Mickey remains sitting at the table, frozen and somewhat numb. The anger, at himself, at Gallaghers passes; he tries to keep the fear at bay. 

 _"Fuck, Ian!"_ he murmurs  _"where are you?"_

There is no answer of course, no sign as he stares at the napkin with Lips notes. 

"Carrot top crazy again?" didn’t hear Svetlana come down the stairs, but when he lifts his head she is standing a couple of meters away, Yev on her hip. 

"Don’t call him that" the response is automatic, because Mickeys not 100% in the room and even after all this time this reaction - being protective of Ian - still comes naturally to him. However next words bring him back to reality.

"He came to see us over Christmas"

"What?" He turns to stare at her 

"Carrot top. Comes here at Christmas. Tries to give Yevgeny gifts. Good ones, expensive. Wants to play with him. I take the gifts but don’t let him in"

And just like that the anger is back and Mickey welcomes it, relishes in it.

"The fuck would you turn him away?" Svetlana is non-pulsed

"He wants to get back with you, he doesn’t get to use Yevgeny" she says matter-of-factly in that way of hers he hates and if it wasn’t for Yevgeny he might have started screaming 

"He’s not fucking using him! He was probably just fucking lonely!" Svetlana tilts her head, considering. 

_I'm not giving up this time, Mick_

"Yes, he looked sad" she looks at Yevgeny, touches his cheek gently "Yevgeny liked his gifts - she turns back and the stares back"

"He said anything? About himself, where he lives?" Svetlana shakes her head

Mickey gets up, folds the napkin into his pocket and grabs the coat "You have to open the fucking bar yourself" 

 

***

Mickey wasn’t lying to Lip when he said he didn’t know what the fuck he’s going to do next. He is in no mood to be in the car, feels too jittery after Svetlana’s revelation. It shouldn’t have affected him that much, but the thought of Ian delivering on his promise, of trying to find the connection with Yevgeny, it’s like another punch to the gut.

_I'm not giving up this time, Mick_

Sad, Svetlana said, not manic crazy (and she would have definitely recognised it if he were) and yet days later Ian was partying all night long and renovating his apartment. 

He ends up at Milkovich house because of two things. The first one is easy to find, a stack of his “business” cards lying on the kitchen table, a non-descript pieces of paper with his cell phone and email. Iggy ordered 500 for each of them in order to celebrate the first legitimate Milkovich business ever and Mickey had probably used a couple while making connections with bar owners in New Mexico, but now he’s fucking glad to have them.

The second thing is more difficult because he has to dig out all the shit in the boxes in his bedroom. His old shit, the one he left behind when he went inside and that miraculously survived thanks to Iggy probably (though he always refuses to admit it).  It takes a while, but he manages to dig out a stack of photos. It’s from early summer when Mandy was still living at home - Ian’s idea to take the photos using an old Kodak camera. Mostly the three of them, with occasionally Yevgeny and Svetlana making it. It’s the last photos he has of Ian and he picks a few to show people around.

The hallways from his room to the front door takes him past what used to be Mandy’s room, and then became Iggy’s room and then was rented out to some whores and is nobody’s now. But the way Mickey remembers it is Mandy’s room and it only takes a moment hesitation for him to fish out his phone. 

 

***

His sister voice on the other end of the line sounds almost foreign. They haven't really been in contact since she called to congratulate him after his pardon. Milkoviches disperse to survive, they run and hide and protect their privacy. Mickey gets it, Mickey is the same and yet there is something sad that while his relationship with Iggy and Colin has strengthened in the last year he almost completely lost touch with one sibling he had always been close to. 

"It’s me" he says simply and can basically feel Mandy tensing up on the other end. Milkoviches don’t call each other just to chat.

"Mickey?" she pauses "how are you?" 

He can’t resent his sister for trying to get out, for building a life for herself somewhere far away from Southside, but this strange politeness still grates on his nerves.

"The fuck you think? Still alive, bitch" he coughs and forces himself to ask "you?" "Just fine. Asshole" the irritation in her voice sounds better, sounds familiar, but he can’t quite relax. They fall silent for a moment, Mandy’s clearly waiting for him to let her know why he’s calling

"Listen" he says finally "you heard from Ian recently? "

He can hear a sharp inhale on the line and when Mandy’s voice comes back it sounds strained 

"No... not exactly. Why?"

"What the fuck not exactly means?" there is a tiny pause and then Mandy replies

"He called me just after your pardon in November asked if I knew your phone and address"

"Did you give it to him?" his heart skips painfully

"Yeah... I mean I gave him Colin's address. I did not have your new number" she signs "Mickey, I really don’t want to get in between you two, but he seemed so desperate..."

"Ian’s missing" he cuts the chase "I came to Chicago, but his family hasn’t seen him for over a month, his fucking phone disconnected, nobody knows where he is" 

Saying it all at once out loud suddenly leaves him almost gasping for breath, feeling like he’s about to have a fucking panic attack. He forces himself under control.

"Shit" It comes through raspy and sharp, a familiar Mandy replacing a polished version of his sister immediately. He should have known that Ian, Ian needing her, would do it "is it bipolar?"

"Looks like that" Mickey swallows another wave of panic "He seemed manic according to his landlord, did some pretty crazy shit. Fuck knows what’s happening with him now."

"I haven’t actually seen him in a long time, several months maybe. He helped me out with some shit, when Colin was inside and Iggy too stoned. We... I... we tried to stay in touch, a text here and there, but it didn’t really work. And when I saw him in August..."

There are some bad feelings there, he can feel by her voice; he doesn't touch it. When he finds Ian, there will be a lifetime of opportunities for them to braid each other's hair.

"Shit" it was a futile hope Mickey realises now, but he kind of expected to get more from his sister.

"What can I do to help?" Mandy's voice is gentle, gentler than he can handle right now.

"I don't fucking know" 

 

 

***

He heads to Ian’s apartment building first. It’s a little apartment block, 5 stories, not modern, but clean. It’s the kind of a place well off Southsiders escape to when they manage to climb a couple feet on the social ladder. 

That kind of determines Mickey’s approach. He smooths his hair, rights his shirt collar and digs out an old folder from under the seat. His tats do not fit the image he’s trying to build, but he’ll have to roll with what he’s got. 

Some of the flats are empty, not surprising on a workday afternoon, but on a third attempt he hears exactly what he needs - an elderly lady, voice slightly hesitant, but also a bit eager 

"Insurance company, mam" he schools his voice into a polite drawl he used to affect when they run the moving truck scheme "I’m looking for one of your former neighbours, from flat 5. Will only take a minute of your time."

That gets him in the building and 2 minutes later he has his ears talked of by an elderly lady. She does remember Ian “such a nice man” and “so handsome in his uniform”, “must have been a scam”, “showed his true colours later, partying all night, such a racket, tried to bring down the building” etc., etc

He drills her and every other neighbour he can find on any details about Ian lifestyle, "those people” that visited his flat, any mentions of where he worked or partied. The results range from useless to mildly useless. Some guy rants about fags, another old lady tells him about "people in devil’s clothes", someone claims to have found a bag of coke on the stairs. By 7 pm he gives up and heads to Boystown. 

 

***

Mickey’s been here before, he knows the pattern, an easy solution for Ian without a job and on manic high. He hates the thought and yet he prays to God that Ian somewhere there. Even if he has to go through every bar in the city, it's way easier than scoring the entire country. 

The first couple of days result in nothing. Nobody seems to have employed or seen the redhead. He hasn't used his phone or email since New Year; hasn't posted anything online. Lip tries and fails to get his phone records; talks with Trevor again and the kids at the youth centre where Ian seems to have spent a lot of time over summer. 

Mickey spends Friday morning going through Ian's stuff in Gallaghers basement. He feels like a bastard, Ian's would have hated anybody invading his privacy. And there is nothing here, just clothes, mostly activewear, some fancier stuff; his meds; some magazines and books. It paints a picture of uncharacteristically empty life for someone like Ian. Mickey gently fingers EMT exam preparation books, clearly read to bits and carefully marked in Ian's elegant handwriting. For some reason they make him want to cry. 

He calls Jonathan. 

"It does sound like a mixed state" The psychiatrist confirms "It's actually very difficult to detect, most people can mistake it for just normal mood swings. What meds was he on?"

Mickey reads off the names on familiar orange bottles.

"Hmm... that's a bit odd. One of them is an anti-depressant. It's been debated that they are not really recommended for bipolar. They happen to cause mixed states occasionally..."

"So, what, some wack prescribed wrong pills to him!?" 

"They might have been working for him - each case is individual. He might have stopped taking them. Can you calculate when it happened? There is an issue date on each bottle and a recommended dose"

Mickey counts back; doesn't know if he's relieved or horrified to find that Ian continued taking his pills up until after Christmas.

"It happens" Jonathan re-assures him "He might not have even noticed that things were going wrong, poor guy... Then emotional crisis happened and he might have just snapped..."

"Fuck" Mickey mutters "I think I fucking pushed him towards it. I treated him like..."

“Not everything is  _your_  fault” Jonathan cuts him off harshly, in the way he's never done before "trying to make it so leads only to shit. The more you focus on your guilt, the more useless you become. If you want to take care of Ian, you take care about yourself  _first_ ” he drums these words like an order. 

 _"Fat chance"_ Mickey thinks and Jonathan must sense it because he repeats.

"You want to trust me on this, Mickey. No guilt for you. Guilt is useless"

Mickey pauses - Jonathan's a pro after all.

"So he's manic now?" Mickey asks

"Not necessary... he could continue cycling, just less rapidly. Or he could fall into a long episode, either manic or depressive"

 "What should I do when I find him?"

Because it is  _when_.

"Get him to see a psychiatrist as soon as possible; best to get admitted for 24 hours so that they can sort out his meds. And then just do what you've done the last time - be there, take care of him, listen to what he needs"

He can do it. He can do anything. He just needs to  _find_  Ian.

 

***

The next few nights he spends scouting Boystown, without success. 

During the day he goes to all the places he can think of - the EMT station, the apartment block, the cemetery where Ian's mother is buried. Lip tags along to that one, for some reason. 

The old keeper recognises Ian, but claims he hasn't seen him for a couple of months.

"He used to come here often?" The elder Gallagher asks with disbelief. 

"Every two-three weeks during summer and autumn, yes sir. Like a clockwork. He would sit here for hours. Looked really down too... Not surprising with someone desecrating the grave like that" 

Lip's face pales; he turns around and walks away. Mickey leaves his card and follows him silently. 

 

***

On Monday he receives a call from someone called Sue, who used to work with Ian. She's been away to take care of her sick mother and has just come back to Chicago. 

"Are you Mickey?" She asks hesitantly "Mickey from Mexico? Ian's Mickey?"

The words leave him breathless. Yes, of course, he's Ian's; have never been anyone's else.

They meet at Patsies because she wants to talk with Fiona and Lip too. She's late thirties, the hood girl who made it good. Her dark eyes are clouded with worry, but she speaks in no-nonsense way. 

"I knew he was going through hard times" Sue says. For some reason, she's mostly speaking at him, though occasionally her eyes drift towards the Gallaghers

"He was so stressed all the time, poor kid. Tried to hide it very hard, kept saying he was fine like always " Her eyes track Mickey's face like she's looking for some sort of sign "Exams, trouble with Debbie... And he was fucking heartbroken about losing you"

Mickey lowers his eyes. He can see Fiona's gaze burning into his back.

"Did he exhibit any signs of…, you know?" 

"Not of being manic and depressed per se... He was high strung..."

"You should have called me, Sue!" Fiona's voice rings hysterically.

"So, you could do fucking what?!" Sue shakes her head "He's a fucking adult, he didn't want you involved. And I thought his therapist was helping..."

That comes as a surprise to Gallaghers. They drill Sue about the doctor, but she doesn't know anything except her office location. Neither can she help with any other contacts - Ian's been too focused on his exams to go out much. Before she leaves she looks straight at Mickey.

"Let me know how I can help. And when you find him” Mickey appreciates the _when_ “Be gentle with him, kid" She shakes her head "I don't know for sure how he screwed up, but he paid for it believe me"

Mickey nods, ignores Gallagher's gazes drilling into his back.

 

***

That night Lip and Mickey go back to Boystown. The elder Gallagher is pissed; he smokes non-stop and barely says a word. They spend a couple of useless hours, before going back to the parking lot. 

"He told me about Mexico" Lip says finally. They are both leaning against the car. "Nobody else knew, only me. He told me everything –going all the way to the border, about him bailing out the last minute"

"Good for you" Mickey mutters. Lip Gallagher is the last person he wants to talk about it. 

"He said the sex was fantastic" That cuts through Mickey's heart. Because, yes, it was; because fuck the bastard for making it sound like that was what it was down to.

"You need to get off? Go watch some porn" Lip ignores him

"I told Fiona today and she was shocked... Couldn't believe Ian would risk his life like that. I could... I always knew he was loco around you" 

"But then he came back and you know what I thought? Thank fuck, my brother stopped going crazy over Mickey Milkovich. Guess I was fucking wrong"

"The fuck do you mean?" The implication is loud and clear and Mickey could ignore it,  _should_  ignore it... But he's been aching to hit someone for days and the fucker would do.

It seems like Lip is thinking the same - he widens his stance and stares Mickey straight in the eyes. 

"I mean, you manage to screw things up even from the fucking Mexico! It's not enough that you have Ian pining for you for years, that you break his heart over and over again. No, the moment he gets his life in order, gets happy - you show up! And off it all goes again!"

And it's like Lip threw salt if the festering wounds in his chest. His guilt runs deep enough without the reminders.

Mickey steps forward and Lip tenses - they are 30 seconds from landing the first punch. 

"You fucking asshole!" Mickey grits through clenched teeth "You think I wanted any of this?! You think I wanted to abandon him? Wanted him to experience this?"

"Oh, I don't know? What would make me think that?" Lip's voice drips with sarcasm "All the times you fucking stomped on his heart? He shouldn't have never met you!"

Mickey lands the first punch, sending the Gallagher flying backward; the smart fucker springs up quickly. 

The car door slams to the right and Mickey turns around, sees a young guy hurry away from them towards the main street. He freezes. 

"The fuck are you...?" Lip glanced towards the retreating figure "It's not Ian" 

As if Mickey can't tell that himself... 

"Shut the fuck up" The guy wearing black clothes and devils half-face masks turns left

" _Those people wearing devil’s clothes"_  the old lady at Ian's apartment block complained. Mickey falls behind him. 

The club is in the backstreet and though it looks like nothing much there is a group of expensively dressed gentlemen in front of it. 

"The fuck we are doing here?" Lip hisses; Mickey forgot his existence.

"We are fucking trying to find Ian" he steps inside. 

 

***

The club is dark. Loud music, red lights flashing everywhere, barely clad guys dancing on small podiums. Mickey peers at each of them, looking for the flash of red hair or familiar move. 

"He's not here" Lip hisses after they make a couple of rounds around the room.

"You fucking think?" 

They make their way to the bar. It takes a while but between Lip's bullshitting and Mickey's intimidation they get it. Yes, Ian's been hanging around the place, as a customer. Yes, he worked here as a go-go boy for about a month, wild thing, brought in nice bucks. No, he's not here now - he just didn't show up one day. Who knows, maybe two weeks ago. Where did he live? No idea. Who did he talk to? He would go with anyone, but there was a customer who hang around a lot. Oh, come on, don't go, we have other redheads if you want to.

It's the first bit of progress they had in a week and Mickey feels just a tiny bit of hope.

 

***

It takes two days, sleepless nights, talking with a hundred cocked up thinks and old jerks and a couple of busted noses, but Mickey finds the Northside fuck who Ian's been bunking with. Lip and him nearly take the door to his apartment off at 1 am in the morning. 

Ian's not there...

"Who the hell are you people?" The fucker looks slightly hangover. Mid-thirteen, tall but thin, perfect white teeth and manicured hands.

"We are looking for Ian Gallagher. I'm his brother" Lip explains. Mickey stays silent

"Ian? He's not here" 

"We can fucking see that. Where. Is. He?" Mickey barks. Five minutes in the loft and he already wants to destroy it to pieces.

"Don't know..." Mickey takes a step forward "Look, I don't really know him, I just let him stay here for a while, ok? But then he got all weird and I asked him to leave"

"Weird how?" Lip picks up

"Just didn't get out of the bed one morning. And the next. Didn't shower, didn't eat, barely moved, like he was sick or something. Really weird!"

"You just threw him out?! A sick man?!" Mickey feels his heart sink. Ian hitting a depressive episode, with no one to look after him....

"He was just laying there" The asshole waves his arms "Couldn't even give me a blowjob..."

Mickey's closer, but it's Lip's fist that get to the bastard first. It sends the guy right to the floor - Gallaghers know how to throw their punches. Lip follows with a couple of kicks to the midriff. Mickey leaves him to Lip; turns around and stalks out in the corridor. Without thought his fist connects with nearby wall. Pain bursts like a firework in his fingers, but it's not enough. He leans against the expensive marble and bangs his head, once-twice-three times.

_"Fuck, Ian! Where are you???"_

 

***

The shadows cast by the street light are playing on the dirty ceiling. Ian has been watching them for hours. He can't sleep. The room is filled with noises of several dozen coughing, snoring, dreaming people. He can physically feel their presence and it makes his skin crawl. The shadows are his only companions. Sometimes they can get scary, but most of the time they are comforting. 

Sometimes he thinks he can look through the ceiling right at the sky. It's dark and the stars and the moon are shining brightly. He wishes he could see them for real.

He doesn't notice the tears sliding down his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just one thing to add - I'm trying to portray bipolar disorder as realistically as possible without having any intimate knowledge of it. Apologies, for any mistakes I might be making.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian ends up at the cemetery because he doesn't have anywhere else to go. He's cold, tired, hungry and his head feels blurry, but he doesn't really feel any of these things. He's covered with a white wet blanket and every tiny move, even breathing, hurts like a torn muscle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out quite choppy and chaotic. Part of it is intentional - I really wanted to show the mess in the boys' heads as they are looking for each other; but I might have take it a bit too far. Hopefully, it still makes sense!

_Chicago end of February_

 

***

Mickey falls into a routine. 

Wake up, check the phone for messages (he is always-always hoping there is one from Ian; he doesn't know how to stop hoping). Have a call with Colin, Iggy or Guerreros to sort out business. Check his email in case any of the hundred people he left his card with replied; check Ian's Facebook account. Then it is off to visit shelters, support groups, train stations, bus stations - armed with Ian's picture, a wad of cash and a description that he's squeezed out of that Northside asshole.

Red autumn jacket - he was freaky like that, never cold; dark jeans; small backpack (he kept throwing out his things); blue sneakers. He's probably walking slowly, looks down when he talks, slumps down in his seat, Mickey usually adds.

Ian - in depressed state, alone, without money, refusing to come home... Mickey aches when he thinks about it more than from any gun wound. 

In the afternoon he comes home to spend time with Yevgeny and help Svetlana open the bar. 

Then it's off to Boystown to search through the bars and clubs just in case Ian went back or turned manic again or somebody somewhere heard about him. He typically runs out of options around 2-3 am and then it's off to bed until the next day. 

Fucking searching, searching, searching...

 

***

He leaves the hospitals and morgues to the Gallaghers. Fiona's convinced that Ian's hurt or worse; that's the only reason he wouldn't come home.

Mickey remembers a brief time when Ian first got diagnosed and they were living at the Gallagher house, when Fiona and him felt like a team. When he felt... he wouldn't call it respect, but at least acceptance - of his intentions, his role in Ian's life, his place; appreciation of Mickey's help with never ending shitstorm that was Gallaghers life. And not that he particular cared about Ian's family opinion, but it was nice not to be the "fucked up neighbourhood thug" for five minutes. 

It didn't last long. After they learned that Ian left with Monica, Mickey refused to go back to the Gallaghers' house, couldn't bear it without the redhead. And on Fiona's face he saw relief -  maybe she was blaming him for Ian's leaving, maybe she just did not know how to treat him now that he could not be useful. 

Now she stares at him with poorly concealed distrust and accusation, like he's a sole reason that Ian's not home right now; like it weren't Gallaghers who didn't notice that their brother was missing for a fucking month.

And he does not give a damn about it either; no, it’s her fatalistic approach that pisses him off. Every time he drops by the Gallaghers he hears the same old thing.

"I can't believe it happened. It's Monica all over again"

Mickey grits his teeth and gets out; prefers to check the progress with Lip instead.

Because Mickey knows that Ian's alive; he would break every bone in the body of anyone's who would try to convince him otherwise.

 

***

"Have you tried shelters?" Jonathan asks after Mickey updates him on the progress "Or places where homeless stick around"

Mickey's first reaction is to bulk. Ian's not a fucking homo; he wouldn't end up on the streets. 

"I know why you think so" Jonathan starts gently ”But if he was in a severe depression without any support system, where else would he go? You think all these homeless people ended up on the street because they want to? He might not have enough strength or willpower to do anything right now"

Mickey forces himself to accept the thought. 

"He can be trying to self-medicate as well. Meth, ecstasy - that sort of thing - to pick himself up. Check the crack houses, just in case."

Mickey doesn't know which one is worst, both options make him want to explode. But none of this matters either, not as long as it helps to find Ian.

"Mickey..." Jonathan starts, clearly sensing his unease, his therapist tone on. The ex-con cuts him abruptly.

"Shut the fuck up" He's not doing it, not now, not here. 

"Why won't he come home?" He asks instead "His family's here, they are useless, but he knows they fucking care"

"I don't know... It's difficult to judge these things rationally. Maybe he doesn't want to come home" Jonathan offers gently. "Maybe he thinks he will feel worse there than somewhere else? You said you find them difficult"

"They are suffocating as fuck" Mickey admits "But that's to me. Ian loves them to fucking moon and back. Would do anything for them. And they care about him, wouldn't give him shit about any of this"

"So maybe he doesn't want to burden them. Like he didn't want to burden you"

Mickey prays it's not the case.

 

***

Ian ends up at the cemetery because he doesn't have anywhere else to go. He's cold, tired, hungry and his head feels blurry, but he doesn't really feel any of these things. He's covered with a white wet blanket and every tiny move, even breathing, hurts like a torn muscle. His nerves are stretched thin; every sound is too loud, every stare too long. 

It takes him 3 hours to get to the cemetery because he keeps getting spooked that someone's watching him. When he finally manages to calm down enough, he feels so drained that he can't make himself get up at the right stop and rides till the end of the line. The service guy has to kick him of the train. He stares at him like he's crazy.  _People_  look at him like he's crazy, steer away from him. 

But not here, not at the cemetery. Here everything is quiet and peaceful. Nobody's watching him, except maybe his poor fucked up mother. Fucked up... so fucked up, just like him. The only person in the world that could ever understand him truly. 

And he understands her so much better now. He knows why she didn't come back. Because he thinks about going back to the old Gallaghers house, seeing concern on his sisters' faces; seeing  _pity_  in Lip's eyes; dealing with their question, fake optimism, attempts to make him better; sitting at the family table feeling alone and watched at the same time... and he knows that he can't. He can't... 

It's not about love, he gets it now. His mother loved him; as well as she could love anyone... As well as people like them could love anyone.... As well as he could love Mickey... 

God, he  _misses_  Mickey... So fucking much. He wishes he could just fall into his arms, wrap himself in Mickey's body and scent and just be; he thinks it might hurt less, just for a second. But he can't bring Mickey into this mess, into this darkness in his head. 

And so, he remains sitting here, on the cold ground in front of his mother's grave. And everything in his body hurts and Ian just wants it to stop.

"Hello!" Someone approaches him from the side but Ian can't conjure up energy to move. Whoever it is, whatever they want - they can take it.

"Are you Ian?" The old caretaker walks into his line of vision "I remember you coming here in the summer"

Ian wants him to shut up and leave him alone, let him go back to the silence and peace. 

"Your family is looking for you" The guy continues "Your brothers stepped by. You should go home, son, or at least give them a call - they are worried sick"

_Oh, please, go away!_

"Here, they left a number" Ian can see a hand extending towards him; he focuses his eyes on the marble stone. 

"Erh..." The guy gives up after five minutes "Ok, I'll just... I'll just leave it here" He shuffles to Ian's backpack "Take care of yourself, son"

Ian closes his eyes. It's quiet again, and peaceful. 

 

***

It calms him to be near his son, his quiet happiness and easy smiles; his unabashed demands of Mickey's attention at all times - it's like a balm to the wounds of disappointment he receives throughout the day. And Yevgeny reminds him of Ian more than anyone else in the world – bizarre, considering the circumstances of his birth, but true. 

Svetlana is surprisingly understanding of the entire situation - doesn't pester him with demands, pours him a drink wordlessly when he comes in after his trips; takes it away at the end of the night and forces him to go to bed. Sometimes she doesn't let him go home; forces him to spend the night on her pull out sofa. A couple of times she joins him in his search. Her subdued aggressiveness works wonders with people and she gets along easily with less fortunate of the world. 

"You don't fucking need to, you know" Mickey says after the first time she goes with him

"Of course, I don't fucking need to. But the quicker you find him, the quicker you will become bearable again and not this...." she waves her hand around "Blob of misery"

"Fuck's sake, Svet..."

"We find him, you continue spend time with Yevgeny" She continues without paying him any attention "You give up on the bar, I don't care" He eyes turn to slits "But you do not give up on Yevgeny" 

Mickey stares at her long and hard; and then nods. And so, it seems settled.

Iggy asks around his drug contacts. Milkovich family has lost its clout with drug dealers, after Colin's deal and Mickey's DEA shit. But Iggy still knows a couple of low level dealers and he spreads the word around.

Mandy calls to check in every couple of days, more concerned every time. Guerreros call as well, even though they don't know Ian and can do shit all to help. Knowing Mickey seems enough for them to care.

Mickey's never had more people on his side. And yet he feels so fucking lonely; he knows that won't change until Ian's back, safe and secure. 

 

***

It's thanks to Jonathan that he manages to track down Ian's shrink. Despite losing his practice license the Australian still has access to some academic registers and he  manages to find who resides at the address. It's a joined practice, but the other two people are men, so Mickey parks next to a bright yellow Beetle and waits for the plump woman in her late forties to get out of the building.

She's not happy to see him. He can't blame her, really - he's not the kind of a person middle-aged ladies like to see blocking their cars in the dark of winter night. But she remains calm, slows down and takes a deep breath. He wonders if she's hoping to talk him down from any malicious thoughts he might have. 

"Can I help you?"

"It's about your patient Ian Gallagher. I'm looking for any information that can help me find him" 

Her expression changes from wary to reserved.

"I'm sorry, I can't disclose any information about my patients..." She stops as if just realising something "Ian Gallagher you said?"

Mickey nods, watches the shrink's face go through a series of emotions.

"And you are..?" She asks and Mickey regrets not bringing any of the Gallaghers with him. Ex-boyfriend sounds far less reliable that sister or brother. But then, it's not how he feels...

"I'm Mickey. Ian's my family" He says simply and to his surprise, her eyes widen.

"You  _are_  Mickey?" She sounds almost like Sue. When he nods she pauses for a second and then signs "You better come in"

Mickey feels pretty uncomfortable - despite his experience with Jonathan, he doesn't think he'll ever feel entirely at place at a shrink's office. But he must admit it's not too bad; nothing medical about it, just cosy and quiet.

Once inside she extends her hand.

"I'm Jess Foster, by the way" she motions to the sofa 

"Mickey, you need to understand one thing. I cannot disclose any informative thing about a patient. Whatever we are talking about, needs to be theoretical" He nods; it's not like he's going to go around spilling Ian's secrets either "Why are you looking for Ian?"

Mickey tells her about Ian's disappearance and their theories and watches her face turn ashen. 

"I missed it, I'm afraid... We only had a handful of sessions and I'm afraid I misjudged his mood during our last meeting. He left abruptly and I tried to get a hold of him, but..."

Mickey bites off a bitter response. Sue said the shrink was working after all and there is plenty of blame to go around anyway.

"Was it me... did I screw things up for him?" He asks instead "When we met in December I rejected him...

"Did you hurt him on purpose?" Dr Foster asks and Mickey shakes his "Were you honest with him about your feelings?" He nods.

"You didn't screw things up for him, Mickey. Bad things might have happened but they weren't anyone's fault" 

Mickey leaves it at it; asks her about ideas on Ian's location.

"I would say search wherever you are, but then you are here" She offers him a couple of tips from her experience with patients. Before he leaves she passes him a business card 

"When you find Ian, I will be very happy to hear from him. If he wants to, of course"

 

***

"Yes, I've seen him" the woman at Lincoln Park community centre says a couple of day later and Mickey almost drops the photo he's holding.

"Where? When?" It's the third time he's dropping by that place, but none of the other volunteers ever recalled Ian.

"He stayed here a couple of times." She shrugs "I noticed him because he's a redhead just like all my brothers" 

"When was the last time you saw him" Mickey's heart jumps into his throat. It's the first lead he's had in two and a half weeks.

"Last week, I think? Or the week before?" She scrunched her face on concentration "No, it was early last week. I remember because I saw him at the end of the line when I came in and felt so sorry we wouldn't be able to take him in for a night. It was a cold one, so we had very few spare beds"

"He hasn't been in since?" Mickey's bites his lip. The volunteer shakes her head sadly. 

"Did you see where he went when you put him out? Where would he go, another shelter?"

"I don't think he would have been able to get anywhere else on that night" She pauses "There is an L nearby... Sometimes, people we can't host at the shelter end up there. It might be worth checking..." She shrugs a bit helplessly. Mickey grabs Ian's photo and rushes out.

Walking between the bodies huddled under their coats, feeling wary eyes on his back, thinking about Ian here... it gives him fucking chills. Local residents steer away from him fearfully, huddle on themselves when he approaches them. Mickey takes out a wad of cash and presses on with the determination of a bulldog. 

Finally, some old guy actually listens to his questions and peers at the photo. 

"Ah... the crazy one" He shakes his head "Sure, he's been around" He looks at Mickey's pockets, not too subtly. The ex-con rolls his eyes and pulls out a tenner.

"Talk" he grits out and waves the note "When did you see him?"

"Last week, I think... Yes, this is when he first appeared. New to the game, never been on the streets before, I'll tell you that; had nice things, clean. Probably couldn't get in a shelter. One day he just appears out of nowhere, drops in that corner and doesn't move. Freaky" The guy falls silent and eyes the note hungrily.

"Not so fucking fast. What happened next?" 

"I saw him last two-three days ago... He threw such a rocket!" A disapproving shake of a head; Mickey grits his teeth "Wakes up at dawn, starts singing, says we should go to Starbucks for breakfast. Fucking Starbucks, man! Crazy! Started throwing away his things - nice ones. Said he was going for a trip"

"Trip where?" Mickey's heart skips. If Ian left the city during what seems like another manic episode...

"He kept talking about New Mexico. New Mexico, man!"

"What?" Mickey freezes

"Yes! I told him - man, it's dry and poor there. You want to go south, go to Florida! But he was adamant - kept talking about making things right in New Mexico..."

"When was that?"

"I told you - two days ago, yes! He kept laughing like a madman"

"Did he tell you how he was going to get there?" Mickey asks. His brain starts spinning around possible options...

"Nope... He took off towards the south. Probably wanted to hitchhike. He was still clean enough to not scare people off. And with a pretty face like that..."

Mickey throws the tenner at him and takes off.

 

***

His energy drive almost lasts till Omaha. He hitches the first ride south he can get out of Chicago (he can't fucking wait!), and then continues hitch hiking non-stop for almost 24 hours. It's fun, he forgot how much fun it was to just ride, he can't remember why he has never done it before. Once he finds Mickey and they make up, they should go on some road trips.  Maybe to Grand Canyon! 

In Kansas City he hooks up with some guys in a trucker's bar - they are sweet and lonely, just looking for some company, so they give him a place to crash. They laugh at his jokes and seem happy to listen to his plans to open a cactus farm in New Mexico with his boyfriend. 

The next day he hitches another ride in a truck going to Omaha. 

Five hours later the driver shakes him awake. Ian doesn't want to move... He doesn't want anything actually. The wet blanket is back over his head and he's so fucking tired... 

It's dark, cold, wet and he's got nowhere to go. The backpack on his back feels like it weights a tone.

He tries desperately to remember what he was doing here... Mickey... he was going to New Mexico to see Mickey. Except he doesn't know his address; can't remember it properly... And what if Mickey doesn't want to see him, what if he sends him away...

These thoughts circulate endlessly in his brain as he wanders the city aimlessly. His legs feel like they are made of rubber. 

The screeching of the car comes too late. The only thing Ian remembers is a flash of light on his left and someone shouting and then there is nothing.

 

***

Within five hours it turns into a full-blown operation. There are two interstates that Ian can take from Chicago.  Mickey and Svetlana cover one of them. Gallaghers and Balls split the other. All Mickey's drivers get Ian's photo and description and he makes them go around every stop they can find along the way. Colin and Carmella's family are on the lookout in every corner in New Mexico. 

It's an easier task than going around shelters - truckers love to chat and they've seen enough runaways to be sympathetic towards their cause. Svetlana is particularly effective with her open neckline, bright smile and stubbornness. Still, there is nothing for a couple of days - not surprising given that truck drivers go long distance and are rarely in the same place twice. It's close to 10 PM when Mickey gets a call from Iggy. 

"Ehh... I think I might have found a driver, man..." He says uncertainly 

"You fucking think?!" Mickey's ready to blow over "Where? When?"

"I'm in Colorado Springs already. There is this guy. Says he picked up a young redhead guy in Chicago three days ago... Promised to get him to Albuquerque. But he had to make a stop in St Louis, they have another warehouse there..."

"I don’t care about his fucking itinerary, Jesus. What about Ian?!" Mickey stops

"He refused to wait... Just got out and went off somewhere"

"Fuck!" Mickey stomps around "Three days ago?" 

"Yeah... Man... What do you want me to do?"

“Go learn salsa. Holy fuck, just stay put!”

Mickey hangs up; bites his lip and tries to think. 

"Go" Svetlana nods at him "I take a taxi back home. Go!"

Mickey jumps in the car.

 

***

He wakes up slowly, groggily to the sight of elderly woman in a dark blue uniform above him. For a moment he thinks it's Sue, but no, the woman's blond...

"Sir, what's your name?" He stares at her while she proceeds to check his vitals "Does this hurt?" She presses against his left side.

It does; his arm hurts too. But the feeling is subdued, wet blanket covering everything "How's your vision?". Ian lifts his eyes to the familiar insides of the rig. 

"Ian Gallagher..." His own name feels strange, foreign "I'm an EMT" He whispers as an afterthought.

The paramedics continue to probe him and so do the doctors in the emergency room. They are telling him something - “so lucky”, “just very bad bruising”, “we'll keep you overnight for observations”... 

There is another person talking with him now, a white coat, no stethoscope. 

"I wanted to check on how you are doing. Did the doctors tell you that you need to stay the night?" He stares at her blankly than looks at his bandaged arm and side. 

"Ian, it says on the system that you are bipolar. Are you taking your medication?"

_Bipolar... fucking bipolar... ruined his life. Or maybe it was Ian himself..._

The doctor repeats the question and Ian lifts his eyes; shakes his head.

"When did you stop taking medication?" He tries to remember, but gives up. He's so fucking tired...

"Ian, the passerbys told the ambulance that you walked in front of the car"

_Did he? He doesn't think so - he was just so fucking tired... The doctor is saying something else, but he's not listening._

"... and we can help you..."

There are familiar sounds and smells around him and the bitter sense of regret penetrates the wet fog in his head. _He'll never be an EMT again._

"Is there anyone you would like us to call?" The woman in the white coat touches his arm lightly. 

 _Mickey... He wants her to call Mickey._ He wants Mickey next to him, right now, to surrender himself in his smell and warmth. 

He shakes his head. 

"Ok" She writes something on a piece of paper and passes it to him "That's a prescription for Lithium. I can't only give you a week's dose, ok? Take it and reach out to your doctor as soon as possible" 

 _I'm not on Lithium,_ Ian's wants to say, but his mouth doesn't work very well. He clutches the paper in his hand. 

 

***

The next day the hospital discharges him.

Ian walks three hundred meters to the bus stop and drops down. His mind is still fuzzy and vague and the only thing that he wants is to not move. For everything to fucking stop... He doesn't know how much time he spends at the stop, but suddenly it's dark and some angry guy in a uniform kicks him out. Ian doesn't argue, just huddles on himself and walks away. Slowly - his legs feel like they weight a tone, his ribs and arm hurt and he has no idea where he's going.

He ends up at the river. The dark mass of water is moving with such power and speed, it's tantalising him. It looks like it can swipe him under, overwhelm all other sounds in his fucked-up mind. For a tiny moment the thought is appealing. It will be quiet in his mind, simple, complete. God, he hasn't felt that way in such a long time. Not since...

The thought burns him even through the wet blanket covering his brains. Mickey... he was coming to see Mickey... Yesterday morning he was determined to get Mickey to take him back... Yesterday morning he believed it would be easy. Yesterday everything seemed easy like he owned the fucking world. Tonight, he knows that he's nothing - nothing but misery and darkness swiping everything in it's way under. Mickey doesn't need him, doesn't want him, can't want him. Nobody fucking can... 

_"I wanted to love it, man. I wanted to love you no matter whether you are fucking tripping or lying down for weeks. None of the shit mattered to me. Not as long as I could have you"_

_"It means we take care of each other, sickness, health, all this shit"_

The words burn through his mind and chest. Stupid... so stupid... He wants Mickey so much... Maybe he wants him more than nothingness. 

He slips his hand in the pocket and finds the orange bottle with a handful of pills. He knows that he hates them rationally even though he can't quite make himself feel it right now. He glances towards the water, then back at the bottle... His fingers tremble with effort when he pops the lid open. His mouth is dry as he swallows the pill.

 

***

Mickey never realised how many fucking truck stops, bus stations and hitchhiking spots there were in the Midwest. Fucking endless number of them and he stops at each and every one. Three days after he took off he's still in Kansas City, the last point he tracked Ian to. The waitress in the local joint remembers Ian sharing dinner with some big group, talking non-stop and laughing, despite looking pretty rough around the edges. She has no idea where he went afterwards.

 

***

When the call comes Mickey's tempted to ignore it. Gallagher the eldest has been calling what feels every five minutes.

"Mick?" Lip's never called him that before and his words send chills down Mickey's spine.

"Fucking what?"

"Ian's got admitted in the hospital in Omaha on Wednesday"

"What..? How the fuck..?"

"My hacker friend has a system. It can track people in government systems, like hospitals. Ian's name came up three days ago. Car accident, he was kept for the night and then discharged"

"Fuck!" Mickey takes off towards his car "Where in Omaha? How badly was he hurt?"

"I don't know, it's not on the system" Lip names the address "Mickey, from the police report it sounded like he stepped in front of the car..."

 

***

Nobody fucking tells him anything in Omaha, patient's confidentiality and all that shit. He screws Ian's privacy and calls Dr Foster, who manages to get the hospital psychiatrist on the line. She doesn't learn a lot, except the fact that Ian left with some serious bruises and week worth dose of Lithium.

Gallaghers keep calling him in hysterics, convinced that Ian has tried to commit suicide, that he is now roaming the streets of Omaha trying to find a way to die.

Mickey stops answering the calls. His nerves are already shot to hell and he knows, he fucking  _knows_  that Ian is not trying to kill himself. He decided to go to New Mexico, he collected the pills - there is enough fucking life left in Ian. All the rest of the shit they'll deal with.

If only Mickey can find him. 

 

*** 

There are 14 hours drive between Omaha and Albuquerque. Ian feels like he's never going to make it. Nobody wants to take him on board, not when he moves around, looks and talks like a junkie. He walks slowly along the highway until some old lady takes a pity on him and gives him a ride to Grand Island. He has to spend the night there - he's too hungry and tired. He exchanges his watch for food and sleeps at the bus shelter. 

Walking, hitchhiking, walking ... 

Ian doesn't know whether the pills are helping or not. The fog in his head lifts a little, reality comes through sharper and so does the pain. But he's... seeing things. Sounds are suddenly too loud, there are whispers in his head that are difficult to ignore. He's so fucking tired...

Every time he gets out of another car, it takes all his will not to collapse here and now. He tries to think about Mickey, even talks with him in his head. He tries to think about Mickey's eyes, his smile, touch of his small hands. But his head stubbornly throws him different pictures - Mickey angry, Mickey pulling away. And then even worse - Mickey's hurt, bleeding out, chased by the police. 

An elderly gentleman giving him a lift to Denver gets spooked by Ian's muttering and twitching -  he abandons him at the petrol station somewhere in-between.

Ian ends up walking for most of the day, barely makes it 6 miles before he reaches some small nameless Midwest town. No shelters here either, but someone directs him to the local church. 

Walking, hitchhiking, walking...He's so fucking tired...

 

***

"Hey, if you want I could buy you a coffee and a meal. You look like you need one" the middle-aged driver asks him as they hit Denver. His tone seems casual, but the words suddenly send chills down Ian's spine. The guy's been OK so far, though Ian can't be too sure - he was focusing mostly on shutting down the voices in his head. 

He is hungry, he thinks; hungry and so fucking tired. 

The guy puts his hand on his thigh and Ian freezes. 

"No" he says with all the strength that he can master.

The hand creeps higher and Ian feels like he's about to vomit. 

"Come on, it will be fun!" The guy smiles. One of his teeth is crooked. One of the johns he... one of the johns in September, the violent one, had teeth like that. Ian moves his thigh away.

"No" he repeats and the guy's face darkens.

"Then get the fuck out of my car" He brakes hard "Fucking bum..." 

Ian doesn't want to... he can't move... he can't keep moving...

It's only when the car takes off, tires screeching, he realises he's left his coat on the backseat. The cold wind freezes him on the spot. There are people moving all around him, too many people, and for a second Ian feels disoriented, almost dizzy. He's in someone's path - a hard shove sends him flying down to the ground, his injured left hand breaking his fall, his backpack splitting as it hits the ground. 

A white business card lands on the pavements next to him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of things:  
> 1) I am conscious that I was trying to portray something very dark and difficult without intimate knowledge of it, I hope it comes across as plausible.   
> 2) It was somehow very important in my head to lead Ian to the very edge and then make him to take a step back, to not give up - partially because of Mickey. I wanted to somehow reflect his strength - we have not seen much of it lately, but I still believe he's incredibly strong  
> 3) A bit in the beginning about Fiona was a very last minute addition. I was re-watching S5 recently and there was a tiny scene in 5x09 that I totally forgot - Mickey offering to help Fiona prepare some things for Carl. It's like 15 seconds long and I have no idea why the writers even included it, considering their plan for the finale... But something in it really touched me and I wanted to reflect it


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickeys not a religious man. He never was and the way he grew up, the shit that has fallen on his head in the last how many fucking years - none of this really inclined him to believe in some divine intervention. If God exists he isn't on his side that's for sure, so fuck him.

_Denver, Late February_

 

***

Ian stares at the white piece of paper dumbly. He’s sure he’s hallucinating because there is no way a card with Mickey Milkovich name has ended up flying out of his backpack pocket. Meds are not working - he’s officially going crazy now. Maybe he’s in some kind of dream or drug induced trip, imagining stuff he wants. It sure feels like he is submerged into water.

"Fucking move, asshole!" A bottom of someone’s boot scraps by his hand and he flinches "fucking drug addicts..." the guy who tripped him, just a second ago (no, no, no it feels longer, feels like an hour, an eternity....) mutters as he passes by. 

It helps to ground him a little bit, brings back the sounds of the street and the wetness of the pavement under his ass, the pain in his arm and side, the perpetual throbbing behind his eyes, the cold seeping through the thin fabric of his hoodie. And the white piece of paper stays on the ground in front of him.

Realising it finally sends his body in the action, scrambling for the card and his backpack and hightailing it out of there as fast as he can. He’s whizzing by the time he finds a quiet alley behind some bar, where he can finally allow himself to stop, slide down the wall and open his fist. The card is still there, slightly damp from the dirty slush on the street, but still clear. He peers at it desperately. There is Mickeys name and address and a phone number. There is another one scribbled on the opposite side and seeing the familiar round, widely sprawled crawl almost makes Ian sob. 

But how...? The cemetery, he realises, the old keeper who slipped what he thought was a note in his backpack...

 _"Your family is looking for you"_ he said. Ian didn’t care at the time, thought it was Lip or Fiona or Debbie, ignored the guy, forgot all about it. 

_Family... there was a time, when Mickey referred to Ian as family, but... could it be? Does it mean Mickey’s looking for him?_

The thought that he had been carrying a key to Mickey’s whereabouts for such a long time.... Suddenly he needs to know! 

Ian digs into his pockets desperately before remembering that he doesn’t have a phone anymore, cashed in his last burner device for 10 dollars to some Indian before he left Chicago. Think! Think! Think! He has to pull at his hair to focus, to not allow the despair to drag him under. A phone, he needs a fucking phone! 

An idea strikes him and the next minute he spends turning the contents of his backpack and pockets upside down looking for spare change. One dollar, two, three, 50 cents, another and another. Please, please, please! He ends up with 5 dollars in  coins, trying to remember if it’s enough, if it’s going to work. 

It takes him awhile to find a bar with a paid phone. Thankfully it’s still early in the day and the bar is quiet, just a couple of drunkards in the corner, a bored girl tending the bar. She doesn’t pay him any attention as stumbles unsteadily towards the booth in the corner. 

Ian’s hands are trembling as he drops the coins into the slot and starts dialling the number. He can barely manage to hold the receiver. Reality tips again into potential dream or hallucination. The numbers he's punching look blurry so he has to concentrate very hard not to miss one.

The phone rings once, twice, three, four...

His heart drops into his stomach because what if... what if Mickey doesn’t answer, what if it’s not Mickey’s number at all, what if it's not his voice at the end of the line...

"Hello?" 

But it is Mickey's voice, gruff, perpetually annoyed and so painfully familiar.  The relief of just hearing it is so overwhelming that he has to bite on his fist to stop the sob that's raising in his throat. 

"Who the fuck is it?"

Ian wills his mouth to work, because if he doesn't Mickey will hang up and everything will be lost forever. There are million things that Ian needs to say, but the only one to get out is:

"I'm sorry" Because he is, so much, for before and for now and if he only has one minute left to talk to Mickey, he needs to let him know.

"Ian?!" The voice changes, and the pure tenderness and wonder in it almost breaks his heart. When was the last time anyone said his name _like that_? Another sob raises in his throats, and he can't hold it back this time. He gasps, worries he's not going to be able to say much more, because he needs to get it out...

"I'm sorry, Mickey, I'm so sorry.... I fucked up so badly Mickey... I love you so much... I'm so sorry" He's starting to hyperventilate "I don't think I can make it any further..."

"Ian, shh, Ian" Impossibly tender but firm "listen to me, man. It's ok, I _know_. I promise, ok?"

Ian is listening, never wants to stop listening to this beautiful voice, only wishing he could touch and smell Mickey too. 

"Ian? You hear me?" A bit more urgent and Ian forces himself to say yes. It comes out as a whimper, but seems to be enough for Mickey

"I need you to tell me _where_ you are, ok? So, I can come and get you. Where are you Ian?"

Where is he? He's trying to think, fast, tries to remember...

"Denver, Colorado" He croaks, feels he needs to apologize for some reason

"I... I... couldn't make it to New Mexico..." he wants to explain why he hasn’t made it very far, why he’s been so slow, but the words are difficult.

"It's ok, it doesn't matter, you've made it far enough, man. Now you need to wait for me to catch up. Where in Denver are you?"

"I ... I don't know. Mickey... I..."

_Focus, fucking focus!_

Reality slips in and out again.

"I'm in a bar" 

"Good. What's the name of the bar?" He sounds further away like he's moving "Ian, _please_ , what's the name of the bar?"

It's the please that does it - helps focus him. Mickey always seems to be pleading with him... He wills himself to remember the sign outside, can't... 

"I don't... I can't ..." finally he sees it, on the wall, right across from him, a photo gallery with a sign above it "Gail - the best bartender Shepherds Bush will ever have"

"It's ... I think it's called Shepherds Bush..."

"Got it, man" Mickeys voice is calm again "I'm going to be there in 5 hours, ok? You just need to wait for me at the bar. Can you do it for me, tough guy?"

"Yeah... You'll come?" He can't help asking, needs to hear it to believe 

"Of course, I'll fucking come. I'm coming right now. Do you have money. .."

The line disconnects. For a moment Ian is just frozen a shock of hearing Mickeys voice one second and the line static the next. Then he notices the zero sign flashing on the screen. He run out of credit... 

"Ok" he whispers "It's going to be ok" 

He slumps against the door and shuts his eyes. He feels suddenly so tired, just so fucking tired. And he can't anymore, he's finally reached his threshold. His legs won't carry him another foot, his hands won't lift anymore, his brain can't produce a single thought. The only thing he can do is wait.

 

***

Mickeys not a religious man. He never was and the way he grew up, the shit that has fallen on his head in the last how many fucking years - none of this really inclined him to believe in some divine intervention. If God exists he isn't on his side that's for sure, so fuck him. 

But as he speeds down 80 Interstate towards Denver he finds himself praying.

_"Please, God, please, God, let me find him in time"_

Again, and again like a mantra. To keep himself going, keep from losing his mind.

It’s less than 500 miles to Denver but it feels more like a 1000. Everything in him is screaming to go as fast as the car would take him, but if he gets arrested he won't be able to get to Ian on time. Still he floors it to just over the maximum speed limit. The long straight road of American Midwest makes it easy to concentrate. He lets his eyes focus on the line, only occasionally glancing at the phone on his panel. It’s a futile hope that the redhead will call again, but he checks just in case. 

"Please, God, please, God, let me find him in time”

 

***

It’s getting dark when Mickey finally makes it to Denver and stops in front of Shepherd’s Bush bar. It's a dingy place, with a poorly lit logo on the front and a door that had seen a bar fight or two. Insides greet Mickey with dim lights, blaring TV sport channel and the usual crowd of drinking-at-5pm-on weekday guys. He does a couple of double takes around the room looking for a familiar figure, but he doesn't see Ian. He stomps on the panic and heads to the bar.

"Hey, hey!" He cuts the queue, ignoring the nasty stares and gets the attention of a skinny blond girl behind the till "I'm looking for a guy, tall, red hair. He made a call from this place 5 hours ago, should be waiting around. Have you seen him?"

"Ehhh" The girl looks bored and confused at the same time, like she doesn't have mental capacity to understand his question and holy fuck maybe she doesn't 

"Hello?" Mickey leans further into the counter and whips out Ian's photo "This guy. Have. you. seen. him?"

She stares at the photo for a second and then back at Mickey

"There was a guy with a red hair around here" she says uncertainly " He didn't look like that though, looked like a bum"

She glances at the photo again, expression doubtful

"Well, where is he now?" Mickey glares at her while his hand moves to cover Ian's photo protectively.

"He didn't have any money, just sat slumped in the corner like he was sick or something. Andy kicked him out"

"You kicked a sick man out" Anger bubbles inside him "How fucking charitable of you!!! What, he was marring the face of this fine establishment?!"

"Ehhh" The waitress stares at him like she doesn't quite understand him again.

"Look, bozo, are you going to order or what? Because if not you better..." Mickey whips around so quickly the guy standing behind him startles and stops mid-sentence. Or maybe it's the murderous expression in Mickey's eyes that does it.

"I better what? Hm, fucker?" He almost bares his teeth “Believe me you don't want to do it with me right now" 

The guy must have enough bran cells in his body to guess that Mickeys in a condition that spells trouble for everyone and lifts his hands in surrender. The brunette is already turning to Britney Spears wannabe behind the bar

"When did you kick him out?"

"A couple hours ago?" She sounds uncertain like the concept of time is strange

"You saw where he went?" The girl just shrugs

"Holy fuck!!" The ex-con pushes away from the bar hard and storms out.

Outside he allows panic to take over for a moment. Where could Ian go? Without money, clearly not all right? It’s cold, windy, its fucking snowing!

" _Fuck, fuck, fuck"_  He kicks the garbage bin hard, the pain in his foot feeling good, almost sobering. He doubles over and rests his hands on his knees, breathes in and out forces a panic attack to back off. Ian couldn't get away far, he's here and the only thing Mickey has to do is _find_ him. 

In the next half an hour he combs through the surrounding area checking every store, bar and alley. Nothing. He ends up back in front of the Shepherds Bush and looks around in the vain hope that Ian managed to make it back and is waiting for him. 

He doesn't see his redhead but spots a couple of alcoholics smoking on a corner.

"Hey" He heads towards them "you fuckers hang out here a lot?" they nod warily "There was a guy here a couple of hours ago, young redhead, looked like a bum. He left this bar" He motions behind his back "seen him?"

They shake their heads and Mickey curses, stares them down 

"You sure?" adds as much intimidation in his voice as possible

"Lowlifes usually hang out down Lexington avenue" One of them murmurs

"And what are you? Industrious members of society?" he bites out "Where the fuck is Lexington avenue?"

As he almost runs down the road from the Main Street the scenery indeed grows derelict. Lexington is a dirty road, lined with broken down cars, buildings with boarded windows and bum nests. The air reeks of despair and lost hope. There are groups of people hanging on the corners, trying to get warm with bottles of whisky and cigarettes, 20-dollar whores looking for clients. Mickey makes his way from one group to another, asking, looking, asking. People steer away from him - he must look downright deranged in his desperate search - but he presses on, turns over some nests. 

_"Please, God, please, God, let me find him in time"_

A couple of times he thinks he sees a familiar figure, a broad set of shoulders, whips of red hair and chases the passer-by’s just to realise at the last second that it's a complete stranger. 

 

***

Mickey makes it up and down Lexington three times before he gives up and decides to turn back. Check up on the bar again, hassle the patrons in case they remember more, swipe a wider circle in his car. He searches for anger, his lifelong safe mechanism, channels it to get him going. And he is angry, so fucking angry because wouldn't it just be his dumb luck? And the temperature keeps dropping like crazy and where the hell are you, Ian? 

_"Jesus fucking Christ, if I don’t find him, I swear to fucking God I will find you fucker and…"_

The glance he throws down one of side streets is a pure habit. He doesn't even realise what makes him focus on a lone figure in a hoodie huddled on some boxes, but it stops him in his tracks. There is something in the way the guys seats, holds himself that screams Ian at him, even from a good hundred fifty feet away. For a moment Mickey is just frozen, halfway between hope and disbelief, but then his legs start moving on their own accord.  

"Ian!" He speeds up "Ian!"

The closer he gets, the more his heart drops, because, damn it, the figure isn’t moving, isn’t reacting to him at all. 

"Ian..." He grabs his shoulders and pulls the boy towards him. Pale freckles are dusted across familiar features, a couple days worth of subtle covers the young man’s cheeks, red hair stands out against skin so white it looks transparent.

"Ian" He murmurs almost reverently. Gently he reaches out to run his touch his cheek and is shocked by icy coldness of the skin under his fingers. Ian’s eyes are closed, body doll-like in his hands "shit!" He shakes him "Ian, wake up, wake the _fuck_ up!"

Slowly Ian’s eyes open and he stares at him blankly, disbelievingly and the brunette sags with relief, because for a moment there...

"Mick" Ian’s voice sounds weak, chapped lips barely moving "Mickey…" He seems unable to say anything else, but his hands come up to clutch at Mickey’s coat clumsily. 

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Mickey clutches him close, briefly presses his cheek on the top of Ian’s head, feels rather than hears him say his name again "It's ok, I got you" He shushes him gently. 

Ian feels thin and fragile in his arms, the feeling amplified by how few layers of clothing the redhead’s wearing.

"Holy shit..." quickly he drags off his coat and pulls it around Ian "Put this on. Come on!" Mickey helps him to get his arms in the sleeves and starts rubbing his sides quickly in order to get the circulation going "The fuck you are doing in a hoodie in this weather?"

"Left it in the car" Ian answers mechanically, eyes fixed on Mickeys face as if he’s not sure he’s real

"You came" Ian murmurs, wonder and disbelief mixed in his voice "I dreamed of you” He adds like an afterthought.

"Course, I came" Mick strokes his cheeks, his hair, anywhere he can reach "Been chasing your ass around for ages" 

"Come on, we need to get you out of here and in the warmth, tough guy!"

"I’m so cold, Mick" As if he just realised it" I’m so cold without you...” there is something so heart-breaking in his voice that Mickey struggles to keep the tears at bay

"I know, I know, fire crotch. Come on!"

Mickey helps Ian to stand up and hoists the younger man’s arm over his shoulder. He does not know if the redhead is lethargic from cold and hunger or his meds, but his legs are barely moving and he leans so heavily against Mickey the brunette basically ends up carrying him.

Thankfully, Mickey’s car is just five minutes away. It takes a while to get Ian settled, because he doesn't want to let go of Mickey. In the end the ex con simply pulls the passenger seat back and climbs over Ian into the driver’s side. As soon as the key turns in the ignition he switches up the heat to the maximum. 

"Come on, man, give me your hands" he brings their joined palms to the heater and starts rubbing them together. Ian’s fingers are like icicles and he’s worried he’s going to get a frost bite or some shit like that, even though the temperature is above zero "How long have you been out here without a fucking coat?!"

"Don’t know" Ian’s speech is a little bit slurred and he keeps staring at their hands and the rapid movements of Mickey’s palms against his "I wanted to get to you" He adds as if it explains everything. 

"Ok" Mickey doesn’t press, not like that shit matters, because Ian’s here with him now and no harm will come his way "Your hands on the fucking heater, ok?"

He realises that he had never planned beyond this point, beyond finding Ian, and has no idea what to do next. 

He decides to keep it simple, one step in time. Ian needs food, warmth and a place to rest asap. So, Mickey drives through Wendy’s, buys a couple of meals, forces Ian to drink a hot sweet milky coffee and eat some fries. A bit of colour returns to Ian's cheeks and he seems a bit more alert. He doesn't speak and Mickey doesn't force him.

 

***

Ten minutes later when they stop at the first not so shitty looking motel Mickey happens upon Ian's asleep, his face scrunched is painful grimace and the brunette risks leaving him in the car while he gets the keys. He wakes up with a gasp and a startle though when Mickey returns to get him. Mickey doesn't want to know (and at the same time knows too fucking well) what experiences might have turned him so spooky.

"It's ok" Mickey soothes him "It's ok. You are with me, you are good, I got you" Ian stares at him with the same disbelieving look as in the alley, his eyes glassy. Even a minute it takes them to get into the room makes Ian start shivering again. 

"You want to wash up?" Mickey asks "It will warm you up"

Ian doesn't smell too bad, but one could tell that he had spent a couple of nights sleeping rough recently. His cheeks are covered with stubble, clothes rumpled, hair mated and dirty, a lot longer than his preferred buzz cut.

Ian doesn't say anything, doesn't properly look at him, just leans against his shoulder and allows Mickey to lead him to the bathroom.

Not so shitty place ends up being pretty upscale, because there is a real tub and a shower cubicle, together with a full set of toiletries on the counter. Quickly Mickey runs a hot bath, while Ian sags on the toilet seat. His fingers struggle with the coat zip and Mickeys reaches out to help him. He quickly strips away his upper layers - so fucking few of them, just a shirt and a couple of t-shirts under the hoodie. Pants, boots and socks follow. Ian's thin, thinner than Mickey had seen him since his growth spurt in high school. His skin is cold and there are bruises marring his left side where he had been hit by a car, a couple more on his legs. He cradles his left arm a little as well. 

It's the first time Mickey sees his lover naked in over a year, but there is nothing sexual about it, nothing awkward either. Rather it feels like that first time he cradled Yevgeny in his arms again. It feels reverent, feels like gratitude, feels like love. And just like Yevgeny, Ian is soft and pliable in his arms, trusting him to keep him upright, to guide his movements, to take care of him. And realising that helps Mickey to focus, to keep pity and worry that threaten to overwhelm him at bay. There is no room for his own emotions right now. Only Ian and what he needs.   

The redhead hisses as he sinks into the hot water and bites his lips. 

"Steady, tough guy. We need to get you warm, ok? It’ll get better in a minute" He switches off the water and the room fills with almost unnatural silence. It’s just him and Ian, sloshing of the water against the sides of the bathtub and quiet breathing of two men.   

Now that Ian is in no risk of freezing Mickey takes his time. He washes his hair twice and uses one of the million small towels provided to soap him up, mindful of minor lacerations and cuts on his sides and legs. His touch is careful and gentle in a way he didn't know he was capable of, in a way he knows for sure he hadn’t been capable of before Ian. Ian leans into his touch, like an attention-starved cat, but doesn't say a word. His eyes remain downcast save for occasional glances in Mickeys direction as if he wants to make sure he's still here. 

“It’s ok" Mickey says every time he catches Ian’s eyes "I got you"

Later, once the water turns from hot to warm, Mickey helps Ian get out and sit on the toilet seat. The motel towels are ridiculously big and fluffy, so he can wrap one around Ian's shoulders without a problem to keep the cold away. He kneels down and uses another towel to quickly dry his legs and feet. The difference in their height means he's staring directly at Ian's ribs and his heart constricts when he realizes he can actually count them. The thought almost undoes his calm because, God damn it, Ian doesn't deserve... Suddenly he feels a hand in his hair and when he lifts his head he sees Ian staring at him, green eyes huge, large tears sliding down his cheeks. 

"Hey" Mickey palms his cheeks "What’s wrong? Are you in pain?"

For a moment he panics. Maybe he should have brought Ian to a hospital. But Ian just shakes his head and continues to pet his hair.

"Jesus Christ, Ian" Mickey touches their foreheads together "I got you, tough guy, I got you"

There is no sound coming from the redhead, not sobs, just those tears falling and falling. He continues to cry as Mickey finishes drying him up, as he leads him to the bedroom, helps him to put on some tank top and sweatpants from his overnight bag, both too short on him. He continues to cry as Mickey guides him down on the bed and covers him with all the blankets he can find. Mickey lets him cry, lets him get it out of his system hoping that this is what Ian needs right now, hoping as always that he’s making a right decision.

Once in bed Ian curls on his right side protectively. Slowly Mickey crawls next to his lover, closer and closer, until their knees and foreheads are touching. He dips his head and gently kisses a tear from Ian’s cheek. And another, and another, hoping that it’s enough, hoping that Ian hears.

"I got you, I got you, I got you"

 

***

Mickey does not know what wakes him up, but for a moment he feels lost in time and space. He could be in one of the dozen motel rooms he had stayed in over the last year, he can be in one of the dozen nights he woke up like that. Most importantly he is alone and that means that either he had dreamed up yesterday or Ian is gone. The thought sends him scrambling to his knees on the bed.

It takes him a couple more seconds to realise that the reason he can see his surroundings is because the bathroom light is on, the door's open. He freezes; only realises he has been holding his breath when he sees Ian appearing in the doorframe, because suddenly it all whooshes out, one huge exhale that feels as if it takes a tonne of weight off his shoulders. 

"I was thirsty" Ian murmurs, as if he’s just as startled to see Mickey awake.  

He looks uncertainly, the intensity of older man’s gaze seems to have locked him in place. Mickey knows he needs to move or say something or even just nod. But he can’t... 

Because, here, in front of him, right here, is Ian. Thin, bruised, silent, having been through hell in the last couple of months. But it’s IAN. Warm, stubborn, brave, familiar slope of shoulders and green eyes shining in the soft light, staring into his directly, clearly. Mickey can't look away, wouldn't be able if his life depended on it. And Mickey can’t _fucking_ move. 

Until he can.

Until suddenly they are both moving towards each other, Ian’s legs eating the distance between them in a couple of steps. Mickey drags him in the middle of the bed and tags his top off. He feels Ian’s hands on him, helping him get rid of his t-shirt. Nothing, nothing feels as important right now as getting rid of any barriers between their skins. Ian's not cold anymore, he's burning, they both are. 

The moment their bare chests touch, Mickey feels an electric current shot through him and he’s... _alive_. Just like that moment many years ago when a scrawny kid burst into his room with his stupid demands and damn bravery. When they first touched, that's when Mickey first felt the current, then and every damn time afterwards. No matter the distance, time or any shit that ever piled up between them, one touch and Mickey is once again 17 and desperate to keep feeling that way again and again. 

Except it’s not exactly true because Mickey is smarter now to know it can be even better. He's lived without Ian long enough to not hesitate to take it right now. 

Ian feels the same way apparently because he’s already surging forward to slot their mouths together. If touching Ian feels like becoming alive, kissing him feels like coming home. Its sweet and hot and for a second Mickey wonders why he had ever entertained an idea that he could live without it. 

He doesn’t know how much time they spend like that, kneeling in the middle of fucking bed, kissing, hands wandering and every bit of skin touching. But suddenly it is not enough and Mickey sits back, tagging Ian down. 

"Come on, fuck, come on, Ian!" The redhead seems to understand what he needs without any further encouragement, because his hands are on the waistband of Mickey’s jeans fighting with his flyer the next second. 

Freeing up Ian is easier as Mickey tags his sweatpants down and away. The moment he palms Ian’s cock, hot and heavy, the redhead’s head falls back, his hands stuttering. The long moan that escapes his lips is obscene and it goes straight to Mickey’s own erection, already painfully hard. Unable to wait another second Mickey's other hand flies to his own crotch and between the two of them fumbling they finally manage to get his jeans open and off, off, off. 

And then it's Ian turn to touch him and fuck, fuck, fuck it's so fucking good! 

Ian falls into him and they both just tumble backwards into horizontal position, Ian’s body covering Mickeys, Mickey's legs parting to cradle Ian's hips like he belongs there.

It's the first time, Mickey thinks. It's the first time in over two fucking years that they are like that, skin to skin, no barrier between them head to toe. There was no opportunity for leisurely privacy on their road adventure to Mexico, a fact that he regretted for months to follow. And even before that, quick fumbles in the Gallagher house flooded with people and their last time on the cold baseball field - no place or time. He hadn't realized how much he missed it, can't stop his hands caressing along Ian's back, his calf’s sliding against the back of Ian's legs. The movement brings their cocks against each and Mickey groans, buckles his hips to chase the sensation. 

"Mick" Ian cries out desperately and rolls his hips to match the movement, his mouth descending on Mickeys and they are back to kissing, kissing, kissing. 

It's good, so fucking good that Mickey comes close to blowing his load and he's pretty sure Ian's close as well. But he wants more, wants it now, so he breaks the kiss.

"Get in me now, Gallagher" He murmurs against Ian's lips "Fucking need you" 

Ian breaks away and stares at him, eyes impossibly huge boring right into Mickeys fucking soul. He feels the redhead cock twitch against him, bites on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from bucking against it. 

"Yes" Ian visibly swallows and Mickey swears that there is nothing more erotic than the movement of his elegant neck "yes ... do you?" he looks around desperately "do you have anything...?" Mickey hasn't thought about any of this, hasn't prepared for it obviously, and honestly doesn't care. He's about to tell Ian to just go ahead without, use spit or whatever, when he notices a bottle of hand cream on the bedside table, one of those damn hotel sets. 

It's a bit awkward at first because they are trying to stay connected in as many places on their bodies as possible. Mickeys sees Ian grimace as he tries to reach his hand far enough and remembers suddenly that his lover is fucking injured. He's about to put a stop to the entire thing when Ian apparently gives up and lifts his chest of Mickeys.

"Just a moment" He pants face scrunches in concentration "Just give me a moment..."

And then Ian's hand is exactly where Mickey needs it. He feels a finger breach him slowly and downright shudders.

"Yeess" He can't help hissing "Fuck, yes!"

Ian's fingers feel perfect, not too fast, not too slow, just the right amount of pressure as he caresses and scissors. Mickey wants to close his eyes and just give into sensations, but he can't. Because no matter how intense Ian's touch is, the look of him is even more fascinating. The younger man's gaze is focused on the way his fingers disappear into Mickeys body and he's panting as if just a sight of it is enough to bring him to completion. Mickey can't describe his face - reverent, disbelieving, hopeful - but he thinks he would be happy to stay here watching Ian watching him forever. That is until Ian grazes his prostate and Mickey outright shouts, his back arching of the bed, thighs pressing on Ian's hips.

"Fuck!" he pants "get in me, Gallagher!" Ian's gaze snaps to his and suddenly he's back to his chatty self.

"You are so fucking beautiful like that Mick. So fucking beautiful, could do it forever. Could come just from watching you"

"Fuck" Mickey has to squeeze the base of his cock "Fucking get in me!"

He reaches to Ian's cock, gives it a couple of pumps and finally the redhead follows, falls back onto him.

Mickey doesn't know whose groan he hears when Ian's cock breaches his rim. Might be him, might be Ian, might be both of them. All his nerve endings stand out and he can't help turning into a mewling mess. 

Above him Ian keeps talking as he quickly pumps into him, trying to bottom out as fast as possible. 

"So fucking beautiful, Mick! I missed it, missed you so much. Can't live without it. So fucking good!"

This, hearing Ian speak like that, the feel of his cock sheathed inside like it belongs there, the additional friction of his own dick against Ian's stomach. Nothing feels righter than this, nothing fucking can, ever. 

Mickey is pretty far gone, but not that far gone that he doesn't notice Ian's body getting heavier on top of him. His left arm is trembling under the weight of his body and when Mickey looks up he sees that Ian's pleasure is marred by pain. That sobers him up. 

"Ian, stop" he clamps his thighs to stop the redhead from moving "you are fucking hurting"

"No, please, please, please" Ian stubbornly persists as if he's afraid that Mickey will pull away. As if Mickey can...

"Shh... it's all right, I know... just let me ..." gently he stops the redhead moving and manoeuvres them around so that Ian is sitting against the headboard, taking pressure of his ribs, Mickey's in his lap "let me do the fucking job, man" 

Thanks to his lover’s substantial length they stay connected and when Mickey allows himself to sink down completely it's fucking amazing. They latch at each other again - groins, chests, mouths - moving together, chasing the peak. When it comes it bursts inside Mickey's head like fucking New York fireworks. He's only vaguely aware of Ian following right behind him, clutching at him with superhuman strength. 

 

***

Slowly Mickey slides off Ian's lap and helps him move down the bed, the redhead pliant in his arms. 

Mickey rolls onto his back, stars at the ceiling. He's trying to catch his breath, listens to Ian's breathing next to him just as rapidly.

And suddenly it all ... gets too _much_. The quietness of the room, realization of what's just happened between them, the electric current running through him wherever he and Ian are touching. Suddenly the events of the evening - how close he came to loosing Ian; the weight of the last month with what seemed the endless chase, the despair, the sleepless nights - it all crashes into him as a fucking freight car. He realizes he's shaking, that his eyes are growing wet; he tries to keep the tears away but they burst from him in desperate anguish sobs. It feels like he's about disintegrate any minute because... because how can it finally be fucking _over_?! 

And then... He feels two arms wrapping around him, thinner than he remembers them to be. But they are pulling him close, squeezing him tight so that all those disintegrating pieces of him have time to settle _down_ , rearrange themselves. Desperately he clutches at Ian's forearm around his neck and lets the tears fall. 

It is over. It is fucking over. Because Ian's here, with him, WITH him and no matter what comes next nothing is going to change it. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... to be honest I don't think I have anything to add about this chapter... except the fact that it, for obvious reasons, especially the last part, is very dear to my heart


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in weeks his brain ... it is not completely clear, but is clearer. The world around him makes some sort of sense, he knows where he is, he remembers yesterday (Oh God, yesterday!), he can believe it actually happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to go up on Tuesday, but I ended up in a beautiful place with no internet connection this week. Sorry for the delay!

 

_End of February_

 

***

Waking up is a process that feels as if he's trying to swim to the surface of a deep sea. Except it's not water around him, but thick fog.

The sense of smell comes first. It smells of Mickey, of Mickey and him together and that means that he's safe. That there is no reason to hurry and he can allow himself to swim to the surface slowly. 

The sound comes next, soft murmuring reaching his ears from far away.

"Ian" Mickey's voice.

A warm hand touches his cheek gently - familiar, rough, calloused hand. Ian follows it to surface like a safety line. 

When he opens his eyes, the room is dark, heavy curtains covering the windows. Mickey is sitting next to him on the bed, hovering over. 

"Hey" He murmurs softly, allows Ian to come to his senses slowly. He's beautiful, Ian thinks, so fucking beautiful.

"Hey" Ian murmurs back

"How are you feeling?" More caress, blue eyes looking at him attentively. Ian takes a minute to process the question. He's warm, his body doesn't hurt too badly, his head is somewhat clear and Mick's by his side.

"I'm ok" He says slowly "What time is it?" 

"It's only 8" Mick's fingers draw patterns on his neck. "You don't have to get up, sleep some more, ok?" 

"I need to go down for a minute, give your stuff to laundry. Didn't want you to wake up alone or something"

The meaning of the words comes slowly and Ian's hand instinctively wraps around Mickey's wrist.

"You are coming back?"

"Five minutes tops, man, promise" he pats him on the cheek one more time and almost gets up, but then suddenly he's back in Ian's face and pecks him on the lips quickly before leaving the room. 

Ian turns on his back and breathes in and out. He's feeling... ok. For the first time in weeks his brain ... it is not completely clear, but is clearer. The world around him makes some sort of sense, he knows where he is, he remembers yesterday ( _Oh God, yesterday!_ ), he can believe it actually happened. 

Slowly he swings his legs to the side of the bed, finds his sweatpants (Mickey's sweatpants really) at the bottom of the bed and slowly stands up. His legs feel wobbly and his body aches, but it's... not a good ache, but a real one. He almost welcomes being able to feel it. 

The trip to the bathroom takes a good five minutes - his legs refuse to cooperate. Afterwards he opens the curtains. The world outside looks bright, the sky's clear, cold condensation pulling at the bottom of the glass. He stands there leaning against the windowsill until he gets tired and then shuffles back to the bed and sits down cautiously. 

His brain wanders around as if slowly checking with reality, sluggish and slow. An old backpack near the bed ( _not his, he thinks he lost his_ ), Mickey's coat in the chair ( _he remembers its smell and warmth yesterday as it was wrapped around his shoulders_ ), a bunch of pocket stuff on the bedside table... 

There is a small orange plastic bottle sitting near the watch and random coins. For a moment Ian has to struggle to understand how it got there... Ah, yes, laundry... The bottle must have been in his pocket... Tentatively he picks it up and turns it around.

A couple of minutes later when Mick returns with two huge plastic cups of coffee and sandwiches, Ian is still staring at the bottle. 

"You ok, man?” The brunette sets his purchases on the floor and sits down next to him “That's from the hospital?"

"Yeah" Ian nods and for a long while nobody speaks. It's a comfortable silence, the kind that he's never had with anyone but Mick. It's like having space to breath and yet leaning against a solid wall.

"I think... I think I've been taking them" Ian says uncertainly after a while. Gently, Mickey pulls the bottle up out of his hands and shakes it.

"Looks like that, man. Several pills are gone" Ian nods, feeling relieved that his memory seems to be working "Have they been... helping?"

"I don't know..." Ian looks into Mickeys eyes, impossibly blue in the bright light "I... sometimes it's very murky, like I would see stuff that wasn't there... but sometimes it feels better, clearer"

"What about now?" Mickey gently palms his neck, fingers drawing circles on his temple "How's your head now?"

"I think it's... I think it's all right. I... I know where I am, what's happening..." 

"Good" Mickey nods, continues with his caress. _God, when was the last time Ian felt so cared for?_

More silence follows before finally Ian gathers enough wits to ask the questions swirling around his head. 

"How..? How did you find me, Mickey? How did you know about the hospital?" 

"Right" Mick handles him a coffee and a sandwich "Drink, eat, take your meds and I'll tell you about it"

 

***

"You came back to Chicago?" It's the first thing that Ian brain catches on - maybe the only thing that truly matters to him. 

He tries to think about a dozen reason Mickey might have returned for - Yevy, Alibi, he missed Chicago weather... dozens of reasons that have nothing to do with Ian. He looks down to where his hand is resting against Mickey's thigh.

"Why did you decide to come back?" Mickey's leg flexes under his hand, but he stays silent. Unable to resist Ian lifts his eyes to find Mickey's piercing blue gaze bore into him.

"The fuck are you asking stupid fucking questions for?" He enquirers gruffly and Ian’s entire being is just engulfed with warmth and what feels dangerously like hope.

But the next moment he thinks about what Mickey must have thought when he...

"You came back and I was gone" He lets out a bitter disbelieving laugh "I fucked up again, Mick. I fucking let it happen again"

A hand palms his neck, forcing him to look up.

"You didn't fucking let it happen man" Mickey's eyes are gentle "Bipolar didn't ask your permission, did it? It wasn’t your decision for your pills to stop working" 

"I promised to wait for you" Ian reminds him, shame burning his insides "And I couldn't even hold the promise for one month..."

Mickey scowls, deep frown settling on his forehead.

"No, you did one better. You actually went to get me yourself. You fucking tried to cross the country - without money, alone, hurt - almost made it too! Sound like you were keeping your promise just fine!"

Ian looks away and admits quietly.

"I think I was manic when I decided to do it. I don't remember much... I just remember waking up and thinking that I need to get to you right now. I was determined to make you fucking listen and take me back"

"I know man" Mickey talks about finding Ian's last location in Chicago, learning he was leaving town. Ian hates hearing that Mickey knows about his life on the street; the fire of shame turns into an inferno. 

Mickey's voice is slowly growing quieter, like the memories hurt him. 

"Man, I thought I was going to go crazy when I learned you left the city. I was worried sick...thought I was never going to catch up..." 

He turns away, hiding his eyes. And Ian loves him so much and worries about him so much, that it's stronger than shame or pride. He leans forward and finds the older boy forehead, whispers apologies into his hair. His heart is so full of love that he's afraid it will burst.

"It was ok, at first" He admits "I had all these grand ideas of grabbing you and going on a fun ride around the country" 

He tells Mickey what he remembers about his manic induced journey to Kansas City. 

"And then...?" Mickey probes gently

"I got into that truck to Omaha" Mickey's hand tightens on his thigh "No, it wasn't... it was fine. But suddenly I couldn't get up again... Nothing mattered... And then there was this car... the next thing I remember I’m on the rig... I must have told the EMT my name... They knew about my bipolar at the hospital, that's how I got the meds" He swallows and frowns "But you know about it already?" 

Mickey shakes his head. 

"The hospital refused to tell me anything. Dr Foster barely managed to squeeze some info out of the psychiatrist. I knew about the pills and that you weren't hurt too badly" 

Ian lowers his eyes in shame. 

"She thought I was trying to kill myself" He remembers vaguely "With the car..."

"Were you?" Mickey's voice is steady and calm, but the intensity in his eyes is like a furnace. His hand freezes where it rests on Ian's thigh. 

"No" Ian shakes his head "No, Mick, I swear... I don't think I wanted to. I was just so tired"

Mickey closes his eyes and takes a couple of deep breathes. His forehead comes down to rest against Ian's. 

"Ok" He says simply, like that decides it; like if Ian's telling him that he didn't try to kill himself, he will believe him. Haltingly, uncertainly Ian tells him about what he remembers about his time in Omaha.

"There was a river" Ian admits "After I got out of hospital... I thought... It was so strong, Mick... And I wanted everything to stop..."

Mickey's listening, his breath coming out in short gasps, eyes almost impossibly dark. There is no judgement in his gaze, though.

"But I wanted to see you so much..." Ian looks down, traces the rough ink on Mick's fingers "I thought if I could just make it to New Mexico, maybe... I didn't care how angry you were with me. I just wanted to see you" He lets out a bitter laugh "See, Mick - pills or not, still crazy" 

"No" Mickey's palms are back on his face "Nothing fucking crazy about that. The only thing you got wrong is that I was in Chicago the entire time looking for you" 

There is a promise in his gaze and Ian wants to believe it more than anything. 

 

***

The shrill chipping of his mobile phone startles them both; Ian jumps and pulls away. 

"It's all right" Mickey's hand slides down to his shoulder and he leans to the bedside table to grab the device

"Shit" He whispers and he worries his lower lip between his teeth "It's your brother, man. I didn't text your family that I found you" 

And just like that Ian's thrust back into reality, back outside of this cosy room, safety of Mickey's arms. He's back in the world of shame, failures and betrayals. He pulled a Monica - he's left his family behind - at least this is how everybody will see it.

He must have frozen because the next thing he knows is Mickey's hand tightening on his shoulder to the point of pain. 

"Ian" He looks up to stare in the blue eyes he thought he might never see that up close again. The brunette motions to the phone in his hand.

"I can call your family now. Or we wait until we get back to Chicago. Or we wait until you are ready, though they'll probably learn about it anyway as soon as we are back Southside" It sounds so simple coming from Mickey; everything is always so simple with him. 

And the thought is so terribly tempting... To stay like that, just the two of them. But then he remembers the horror of not knowing, the first couple of times Monica took off and he knows that he can't... can't do it to his family. 

"I can't, Mick, they don't deserve it" He shakes his head and another reason comes to his mind slowly "And I don't have anywhere else to go"

There is no way he still has his apartment, not after skipping two months of rent. He can't make himself get too bothered about it - he liked the place, but not for the space itself, just an opportunity to be on his own.

Mickey's back at worrying his lower lip and when he speaks his voice comes back gruffly.

"Yes, you fucking do"

Ian stares at him, his heart dropping to the bottom of his stomach.

"Do you... Are you...?" He swallows "Are you sure?" That makes Mickey scowl more

"Course, I am" He shakes his head "You think I chased your ass halfway across America to unload you off to your fucking family at the end?"

Which Ian wouldn't blame him for, not really. But knowing that he has a place with Mickey...

Mickey must be able to see the decision in his eyes, because his hand slides up to his neck and he leans forward. Their lips find each other and the shiver goes up Ian's spine. God, he missed Mickey's kisses. _So much, so fucking much..._  

 

***

They kiss for what feels like hours, until Ian's ribs start hurting and he loses his breath. Mickey notices first and pulls away, albeit a heavy sigh betrays his reluctance.

"Finish your tea" He grumbles "It's cold. And you got to eat this sandwich if you want to take your pills"

And despite complete lack of appetite, this tender gruffness touches him in a way that... that he didn't realize he missed until it was long gone. The thought is on the top of his tongue before he realizes that he doesn't have to hide it.

"I missed you" He admits and it feels good to say it out loud "I missed you so much, Mick. You don't know… I can never tell you how much"

Mickey's face closes of for a second and then he smirks, a short pleasant sound.

"Missed you too, Firecrotch" He pats him on the cheek "Now eat"

 

***

After forcing half a sandwich down and swallowing his pills, Ian finally gathers enough courage. 

"Lip or Fiona" is the only thing that Mickey asks and Ian chooses his brother. 

"What the hell, Mickey?! Where are..." Ian thought he was ready, but hearing Lip’s voice so up close, familiar, dear, pissed off.... He forces himself to speak, hates the weakness in his own voice. 

"Hey" For a moment there is silence and then Lip almost shouts 

"Ian! Where are you?! Fuck! Are you all right!" The force of his emotions almost knocks the redhead down. He can't...

"Hey, fucker, slow down!" Mickey snaps "They heard you in another state"

"What? Sorry...Ian...”

"I'm fine, Lip” He forces himself to speak “I’m with Mickey” 

“Where are you?” Lip asks as if he’s about to hop in a car. 

“Denver” Ian says, a bit unsure - are they still in Denver? He doesn’t remember last night much, beyond the general feel of being safe now. 

“Shit!” He can’t remember the last time he heard so much worry in Lip’s voice.

“I’m sorry...” He whispers 

“It’s not your fault, man” Lip’s voice softens “you are all right? The hospital... man, we didn’t know how hurt you were” 

And Ian hears it in his voice - Lip thought he was trying to kill himself.

“Just bruises” He says quietly, tells his brother about the meds.

“But you still need to go to proper doctor, man, right? I can find something close to you... There must be an emergency centre in Colorado. Or it might be best if you come home ASAP. In fact, Fiona will probably kill me if she learns that I didn’t tell you to come home ASAP. And the facilities are better here, I’ll ask around the college” 

Ian closes his eyes and leans back - it’s too loud, too much, too efficient. He’s a fucking problem again that everybody’s so eager to solve. Mickey’s hands press harder against his shoulders and he reaches out to take the phone from his hands. Ian let’s him.

“Gallagher” Mickey barks “He fucking just woke up. Why don’t you geniuses weight all the options and let us know, hmm?”

“Mickey...” Lip sounds like he’s about to argue, but then he changes tracks “You are bringing him back to Chicago, right?”

Mickey doesn’t answer immediately and Ian realises that the brunette is looking at him. Like if Ian shakes his head right now Mick will stay right here in the hotel room or drive them to New Mexico and find a hospital there or...

It’s tempting, God, it’s so tempting. And thoughts of his family, of his life back in Chicago should stop him, but it’s not that image that pops into his mind first. He thinks of Yevy instead, of Mick coming back to Chicago instead of asking Ian to move. And he knows that he can’t take it away from him. He nods.

“Yeah, yeah, we are heading back” Lip wants a plan and details but Mickey clearly had enough.

 

***

A call with Lip leaves Ian strangely drained or maybe it’s all the emotions of this morning. So, while Mickey takes a shower Ian steals a cigarette from Mick’s pack and cracks open a window. The first hit of heavy smoke burns his lungs. Mickey’s always smoked heavy cigarettes, but this tastes differently; it’s some Mexican label he realises belatedly and the thought catches on his brain. When he and Mick lived together, they used to share smokes, not any particular brand, just whatever they could get their hands on. The taste used to be familiar, it used to…

“You all right, man?” Mickey’s voice wakes him from his reverie and Ian turns around, wanting to see him, wanting to reassure himself that he’s still the same Mick. 

The ex-con is wearing jeans and nothing else, a towel around his shoulders; wet hair falling onto his forehead, rivulets of water dripping down his chest.

He’s beautiful, but Ian’s eyes narrow down on its left side and he freezes.

“What?” Mickey takes a quick step forward “Ian...”

“I didn’t notice yesterday...” his gaze is transfixed on rough round patch of flesh. 

Mickey frowns and follows the trajectory of Ian’s gaze.

“That?” He steps forward “Just a gunshot wound man, thanks to the fucking DEA. Remember I told you I was shot?” 

“It’s... It’s...” 

It’s so fucking  _close_  to Mick’s heart. Like, maybe half an inch, no more than that. Unconsciously he reaches out to touch the ragged skin. Mickey let’s out a sharp unexpected breath at the touch of his fingers and shivers; Ian draws his hand back quickly.

“Does it hurt?” He asks horrified

“No” Mickey’s eyes stare at him, impossibly blue and a slight frown settles between his eyebrows “Course not. It’s long healed”

Slowly, tentatively Ian reaches out again. The skin covering the wound feels rough and he can see the marks that the stitches left. It’s an exit wound, he realises. 

“Where did it...” he can’t speak, the noise in his head too loud.

“Hit me in the back” Mickey flexes his shoulder “Like a punch. I didn’t even realize what was happening. It barely hurt”

“ _Shock_ ” The thought comes as if he’s reading one of his EMT books “ _blood loss. A person might not be aware of the severity of their injury_ ”

He flattens his palm against Mickey’s pictorial muscle, his middle finger on the wound; moves his thumb until it reaches the spot just over Mick’s heart. Half an inch...

Slowly, as if his legs are made of lead, he circles around his lover and does the same with the scars on his back. A third of an inch...

Ian feels like he can barely breathe, like someone’s slowly squeezes his air supply. His gaze is transfixed on the small red mark on Mickey’s back until he can’t see it for the tears pulling in his eyes.

Mickey could have died. Mickey could have died and he wouldn’t even know. Mickey could have died...

He doesn’t realize he spoke out loud until the brunette, who’s been standing still to allow him his exploration, turns around in his arms. 

“I didn’t” He says firmly “Ian, look at me”

Slowly, Ian lifts his gaze. Mickey’s eyes are impossibly-impossibly blue. 

“See?” Mickey’s hand covers his where it presses on his chest “I’m fucking alive. I’m fucking here”

Ian takes a sharp breath and forces himself to listen to a quiet thump-thump-thump under his fingers. The heartbeat is strong, his chest is rising with heavy breaths and his skin is warm under Ian’s fingertips. Slowly Ian lowers his head, his forehead’s finding Mick’s and closes his eyes.

_Alive. Here. With him._

 

***

Mickey doesn’t know whether it’s the wound, the call with his brother, being on the road or, hell, even his meds, but as the day progresses, Ian grows more and more agitated. 

He alternates between staring out of the car window, his leg tapping nervously, and turning sideways towards Mickey, his hand latching on his thigh or shoulder. The latter position must play havoc on his bruised ribs. But Mickey bites his tongue to keep from saying anything. Ian’s an adult, and as long as there is no long-term harm it’s his choice. 

Occasionally, he naps, his face relaxing for 20-25 minutes before he jumps awake disturbed by the smallest of sounds. 

It scrapes against Mickey’s heart how little he can do to help his lover, but he stomps on the guilt and focuses on what matters. Ian’s here, with him, alive and relatively unhurt.

Around lunchtime Ian finally manages to fall asleep properly, head leaning against the passenger door, slight frown on his face. Mickey switches off the music and lowers the speed so that the car doesn’t make so much noise. The wide Nebraska highway is almost empty ahead of him and he lets his brain to go blank, to not think about the last couple of days.

“No!” Ian springs up from his position suddenly “Watch out! Watch out!”

“Fuck!” Startled Mickey swirls to the shoulder and brakes, thankful for the almost empty road.

“Fuck’s wrong?” He turns to the redhead, but Ian’s not hearing him. He’s already undoing his belt, head turning around rapidly, eyes blown wide. 

“The cartel” He pants “They found you! We need to run!” 

Mick’s heart sinks a little and he quickly follows him outside.

“Ian, calm down, man” 

“No! Mickey, you need to hide! They found you! They have guns!” He turns around as if he’s expecting a Mexican cartel to jump out from Nebraska hills.

“Ian, there is no cartel here. You had a nightmare” Mickey forces his voice to remain calm, but Ian’s not listening.

“Are you hurt?” He whirls on Mickey “Have you been shot?!”

“Stop!” Mickey reaches out and grabs his shoulders. The redhead’s shaking “Ian, listen to me. There is no cartel. I’m not hurt. We are in the middle of nowhere in Nebraska” 

That seems to throw Ian enough that he pauses; stops thrashing and looks around, left to right, from an empty highway to the snowy hills around them. 

“See?” Mickey allows his voice to soften “No one’s here but us” 

Ian’s looks back at him, his gaze dropping to his chest. His fingers tremble as his undoes the top buttons of Mickey’s shirt and reaches inside, his fingers brushing against the gunshot scar. Only then he exhales.

“You are all right” he says, words a bit unsure, muffled

“I am. There is no danger”

“I thought...” Ian takes a couple of rapid breaths. His skin is ghostly white almost translucent in bright winter sun “I thought I saw...”

“You had a dream, man” Mickey reassures him “Just a dream, happens to everyone. Breathe, ok? Just focus on your breathing”

He helps Ian to sit down on the rail; draws calming circles on his back.

“It’s all right. Ian, we are all right”

 

***

He doesn’t know how long they spend like that, Ian staring at the ground. After he seemed to calm down Mickey touches his shoulder.

“Man, you must be freezing. Let’s get in the car, hmm?”

Slowly Ian looks up and stares at Mickey, eyes roaming his form.

“You aren’t wearing a coat” He says suddenly and Mickey can’t quite read the expression in his eyes. Ian fingers the edges of the coat he’s wearing.

“You gave yours to me” He smiles gently, but there is something in his voice that makes Mickey tense “Aren’t you cold?”

Yes, he is, even in his thickest shirt and jumper, but it’s not like he cares. 

“You needed it more than I do” He says simply and shrugs. 

Ian let’s out a strange sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh and gets up; paces alongside the road, once, twice, his arms coming up to hug his torso. 

"What's going to happen next, Mickey?" He asks suddenly 

"The fuck do you mean?" Mickey grumbles. His insides churn - he doesn’t know where Ian is going, but he knows it’s a dangerous place; that if he’s not careful, he’s going to lose to bipolar again.

"I mean what the fuck are you going to do!” He opens his arms widely "Because, nothing changed since December" He stresses bitterly "You still have every reason in the world to hate my guts. Only now I'm once again crazy and fucked up. I don't have a home, I don't have a job, I don't have fucking anything..." 

"And I told you before!” Mickey throws his hands in the air "I don’t fucking care! I could never hate you and what happened? THAT. IS. NOT. YOUR. FAILT." 

“So, what, you are just going to take care of me until I get better? IF I get better? You’ll continue  _giving_  me things you need yourself? Pretending you are not sacrificing everything for a crazy guy who screwed you over more times than you can count?”

“I can count just fine!” Mickey desperately tries to keep his temper down “Yes, fuck, yes! What do you think it was last night? A booty call for old times sake? I’m fucking in, man!”

Ian turns away and for a second Mickey is worried that he's scared him. But Ian's hate is entirely self-directed.

"I've been screwed up for months, Mick" He admits, his voice dripping with bitterness "Since the border... probably long before that. When I promised you I had it under control, that it was different - I fucking lied... I’ve never had it under control. I’m a fucking fraud!” He looks like he's afraid that  this "lie", pretending to be all right when he's not, is going to somehow change Mickey's intentions. Mickey will have to work on correcting this illusion, but not now. Now he's got more important things to talk about. Because he can feel Ian almost slipping away and he’s not fucking losing to that bipolar shit again. He needs to choose his words carefully, but ends up blurting the first thing that comes to his mind.

"Remember what else you promised me?" He asks calmly, with a bit of steel in his voice "That you are fucking going to fight for me, for us" 

Ian’s breathing stutters. His huge eyes are staring at him and his expression is so vulnerable Mick’s heart clenches

“You promised that you are not going to give up, that you’ll do anything to be with me. And fuck, I believed you. I came back to Chicago" 

“You can’t want this...shit” The redhead mumbles and Mickey’s glad to see uncertainty in his eyes. 

"I fucking love you, Ian" Mickey admits and it feels like stepping in front of the open fire hoping it's not going to consume him "I fucking love you and I came to Chicago to be with you. I don’t give a shit about anything else” 

“You said you know what it means. That we stay together, for better or worse. That we fight for each other” 

Ian lets out another half-sob, half-laugh sound; it’s so full of pain it feels like someone claws on Mickey’s heart.

“How can you forgive me?” He asks tearfully “I abandoned you! Twice! I left you behind, I...”

Which is all true, so very fucking true; and for a long time Mickey felt like he could never move past it. But now he knows that only one thing matters.

“Are you fucking going to do it again?” Mickey asks “I don’t give a damn about the past. I only care about now. And I’m fucking _asking_ you. Are you going to keep your promise? Are you ready to fight for us?”

For a moment Ian’s just staring at him and Mickey sees tears pooling in his green eyes. Then he takes a shaky breath. 

“Yes” Ian whispers, then repeats stronger “Yes, I want to fight for us. I’m not giving up”

He doesn't step forward as much as he falls towards Mickey, his lips pressing against the ex-cons, his arms hugging him impossibly close. Mickey feels as if a tone of weight just slid down his shoulders.

"I love you " Ian whispers desperately when they break apart "Mick, I love you!”

“I know” Mickey whispers “I got you. I got you”

 

***

Eventually they get back in the car and Mickey blasts the heating to the max. Ian’s entire body is shaking, though he wouldn’t be able to say whether it’s from the cold or emotions. 

“Hey, tough guy?” The familiar nickname almost makes Ian smile.

“Dr Foster seems like a cool person for a shrink” He glances at him quickly “You wanna talk to her? She said to call whenever I find you”

Ian thinks about it for a second, swallows a bitter regret at the memory of how he escaped from their last session. Then thinks about putting all of his shit on Mickey, of how fucked up it would be.

“Yeah” Ian nods and then unsurely “Yes” 

“Ok” Mickey pats him on the thigh and dials Ian’s therapist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of things:
> 
> 1) I wrote this chapter awhile ago, but a part of me struggled with it until I added the fight at the end. Because no matter how much Mickey is the one pulling Ian through in this story, I also want to show that it's Ian's choice. 
> 
> 2) The pace of the story is going to change a bit in the last third. Some chapters will cover days rather than weeks, as before. There will be less action, more conversations - our boys have a lot to talk about! Don't expect everything to be resolved at once, there will be up and downs and some unfinished conversations and some times when they fall into old patterns (like what almost happened at the end of this chapter)
> 
> 3) Based on the number of hits and kudos I got in the last 5 chapters, I'm getting some new readers? I love the likes, obviously, but I love comments even more :) So, if you are reading the story, if you like it or dislike it or have any thoughts about it, please share :)


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up to his and Mickey's scents for the second morning in a row feels even better. It is easier to believe that's it's real, that they are here together, now that his mind is clearer. Not only that, but he's actually wrapped in Mickey's arms this time, the older boy clinging to him like an octopus.

_Late February, Denver - Chicago_

 

***

Despite the conversation with Mickey and his talk with Dr Foster he can't relax enough to fall asleep that night. 

Mickey stops at the nearest motel as soon as the darkness falls and Ian's unreasonably grateful. His nerves are shot to death and every little shadow and sound spooks him. The last place he wants to be in this darkness is in a moving car, full of shadows.

But even here, in the quiet of a cosy motel room, under a heavy blanket, hearing Mickey's breath next to his, he can't let go. He can't make himself trust his senses. His brain keeps turning on its wheels like a mad squirrel. And the thing it keeps catching on, one thought... this peace and calm, the safety and warmth, Mickey next to him - he could have easily lost it... He could have been still wandering the streets of Denver or trying to reach New Mexico, while Mickey wasn't there... It could have all been...

"Man, you are shaking..." Mickey's hand on his shoulder makes him jump. 

"Sorry..." Ian swallows "Sorry... I just..."

Mickey switches on the bedside light bathing the room in warm yellowish glow. He shuffles closer to the redhead and presses against his side; heavy weight of his arm around Ian's waist helps to ground him. Ian presses closer, shuts his eyes and breathes in desperately. 

"The fuck's up, tough guy?" Mickey murmurs and Ian swallows the automatic nothing that pops in his mind. He doesn't have to pretend here and now... 

"I keep thinking what would have happened if I didn't find your card... I was so lost, Mick... I was about to give up... What if..."

"Hey!" Mickey's hand palms his cheek and forces him to meet his gaze; it’s almost dark in the soft light of the room "There is no if, ok? You _did_ find my card, you _did_ call me and I came. You are here with me and I'm not letting you go. So, there is no fucking what if, hmm?"

Hesitantly, Ian nods. He knows it's not rational, not logical to worry about something that did not happen. But he can't make his brain shut off.

“And fuck it! Even if you didn’t find my card - I would have still found you. You would have made it to New Mexico and my brothers would have found you. Or I would have figured out you were in Denver”

“How would you...?” Ian shakes his head but Mickey’s having none of it.

“I would have _found_ you, man” 

And Ian doesn’t quite know if Mickey’s trying to convince him or himself, but ultimately it doesn’t matter. He desperately wants his brain to just... accept it.

"Where did you get my card from, anyway?" Mickey's question throws him off enough that the catch in his head releases. 

"What do you mean...? I thought..." The reality threatens to fall from under his feet again "The old guy... in the cemetery...I thought you gave him your card..."

"Ian, I gave my card to every fucker I met in the last several weeks" Mickey scrunches his nose "I just did not know which one made its way to you" 

The image - a thousand cards trying to make this way to Ian sent out by Mickey’s hands - makes him feel warm for a moment.

"The cemetery then? I'm going to kill the old idiot; he promised to call me if he saw you" Mickey grumbles

"Don't" Ian shakes his head. He tells him about the card in his backpack and how he didn't know it was from Mickey. Remembering how he found it by pure accident almost sends him spiralling again and Mickey, as if on cue, presses closer locking him in a tight embrace. For most of their relationships, Ian's been the big spoon - both he and Mickey prefer it this way - except in moments like that when the roles reverse, when he needs Mickey to ground him.

"I'll fucking drive to the cemetery and give him a gigantic tip for shoving my card at you. And then kick his ass for not calling" 

"How did you know I'll come to the cemetery?" Ian wonders after he calms down a little

"I didn’t know. But I heard about your mother... thought you might go there, you know, if you were feeling down" Mickey shifts but remains close to him "The guy said that you used to visit all the time"

"Yeah... " Ian falls silent thinking back on all those trips he made to the cemetery during the spring and summer “ I don’t know why I did it. Just… felt like that”

For a couple of minutes they lie in silence, Ian trying to calm down enough to fall asleep.

"I'm sorry, by the way" Mickey whispers softly "About your mother... it fucking sucks, man"

And the thing is... it's the first _time_ anyone said it like that to him, honestly and plainly; and he never knew how much he _needed_ to hear it before this moment. And he knows Mickey's not a fan of Monica at worse and barely knows her at best. But there is soft sincerity in his voice, simple acceptance. 

_"It fucking sucks..."_

Something lets go inside Ian. Mickey knows him, Mickey understands him. No matter what - he would have found him. 

“I came back to Chicago and she was gone” He finds himself whispering “And I realized that I lost you forever. And nothing... nothing mattered, you know? Everybody kept living their lives like nothing changed, and for me - nothing was the same” He swallows against the tears, burrows further into Mickey’s embrace “I tried to... I tried to get back to how things were before... but it didn’t work... I was just getting crazier and crazier” 

Mickey’s lips ghost his cheek, not exactly a kiss, more of a caress.

“I left you and I regretted it and the only thing I wanted was to be near you again” Ian confesses

“You are fucking near me now, tough guy” Mickey says steadily “So go to sleep”

And Ian finally does.

 

***

Waking up to his and Mickey's scents for the second morning in a row feels even better. It is easier to believe that's it's real, that they are here together, now that his mind is clearer. Not only that, but he's actually wrapped in Mickey's arms this time, the older boy clinging to him like an octopus. His face is relaxed against Ian's shoulder, breaths coming in deep and calm. Ian closes his eyes and allows himself to enjoy it for a few minutes before he has to move, his brain too restless to stay still. 

"You ok?" Mickey murmurs; presses a kiss to his shoulder and lets him get up.

"Yeah" Ian sits up carefully, his ribs still painfully tender, a long drive yesterday not helping "just need to get up, go back to sleep"

"Hmm...I'll be up in a minute" Mickey borrows in the pillow Ian's vacated. Mickey's always been adorable in the mornings and for a few minutes Ian just watches him. Then the redhead slowly gets up and goes to the bathroom. 

He's just finished brushing his teeth when his gaze catches on, well, himself... It's probably the first time he's seen himself in the mirror in the last several weeks. Like actually noticing what he looks like. In the bright fluorescent light of the bathroom, he finally sees.

And it feels like a blow to his head because he's an  _ugly_  scary  _mess_...

He's thin, thinner than he's ever been in his life, his stomach looks sunk, strong muscles of his abs and shoulders - a source of his pride - deteriorated. Freckles stand out on sickly pale skin, his entire left side marred with a huge bruise, scraps and smaller bruises on his arms. His eyes are bloodshot, surrounded by deep circles; his lips are cracked; dull strands of long hairs fall onto his forehead; his cheeks are covered with a couple of days’ worth of stubble. 

He looks weak, unkept. 

And he hates it. He's always known that people found him attractive, has always taken great pains to keep his body strong and toned. Lip's the smart one, but ever since he hit puberty, Ian's became the strongest, the fastest, the most resilient. He's used it to his advantage so many times, both out of desire and necessity. He has no idea who this person in the mirror is. 

"Hey, man, are you done..?." Ian turns around quickly. Mickey is standing in the doorframe staring at him. And the only thing Ian can think off is what it is that Mickey is  _seeing_. What Mickey must be thinking, seeing him like that - weak, fucked up, completely undesirable. Automatically his arms come around his stomach, his shoulders drop and he looks down - protecting himself from his lover’s gaze, from the disgust that's going to appear in his eyes. 

In the next second Mickey steps forward, his hands on Ian's shoulders - strong, grounding - and his lip's sealing Ian’s in a fast bruising kiss. 

"Mick" Ian whispers uncertainly when they break apart. He dares to look up at Mickey's face and the dark fire in the blue eyes takes his breath away.

"Fuck, I want you" Mickey whispers, lips red, and before Ian can protest, he sinks down to the floor. His hands slide down Ian's body, leaving a trail of fire behind; they rest for a second on his waste before tagging Ian's boxers down. 

"Mick!" It comes through as a mix of a protest and a moan; his mind dragging the shame and disgust into this moment, before they - before everything - get swapped away by the feeling of Mickey's mouth swallowing him down. Blindly Ian reaches behind to lean against the counter. 

It’s like his entire body is on fire, electric current running from his dick straight to his brain. God, he’s always loved the feel of Mickey’s mouth, not only for the physical sensation, but also because the thought of Mick on his knees, unabashed and eager, with a single-minded concentration as if there is nothing he would rather do than give Ian pleasure - nothing gets to Ian that much.

Ian’s gaze drops down and, fuck! There it is, that look in Mickeys hooded eyes that makes Ian feel like the most desired person in the world.

He comes embarrassingly fast, the world tipping for a second, his legs almost giving way save for a pair of strong hands on his hips. Then the universe rights itself, 

"Fuck, I forgot how much I love taking you apart" Mickey murmurs and licks his lips. The sight and the intensity of Mickey's gaze, dark with passion, are almost enough to make Ian fall again. 

 "What?" He swallows again "Did you…?" 

"Hmm" Mickey hummus affirmatively and gets up. He tucks Ian back in his boxers and the tenderness of the gesture somehow affects the redhead almost as much as his orgasm.

"Mickey" he whispers as they stand in a semi-embrace in the middle of the bathroom "I look like a fucking mess"

Mickey's eyes look him up and down quickly and then he suddenly slaps him lightly on a thigh.

"You look like a half-starved coyote, man" Blue eyes crinkle with laughter "I'll have to feed you fat chickens for months to get you back into shape"

"Mick..." Ian tags at his arms "I'm serious..."

"I fucking just came giving you a blowjob. The fuck you worry about, firecrotch?” An eyebrow lifts in a painfully familiar gesture and Ian can't help but smile. Mickey pats him on the cheek. 

"But the beard has to fucking go, ok? A couple more days and you'll start giving me a rash"

 

***

They have showers, shave, have some food (or attempt to in Ian's case), Ian takes his pills. They take their time. Ian is reluctant to leave the safety and quiet of their little sanctuary and if he's honest so does Mickey. He both wants to rush Ian back to Chicago, where he can get the help and care he needs, and dreads going there. He's got so used to being with the red-head in the last 36 hours he hates the idea of sharing him with his family and society again.

Lip calls, energised, full of plans. They found a great place for Ian to check-in overnight, really good reviews. When are Mickey and Ian getting back to Chicago? Mickey puts him on mute and turns to Ian. The redhead looks down at the small orange bottle on the nightstand.

“It’s almost finished” he shrugs “And they are not...”

Mickey nods. The pills are working and yet not - they calm the mania, but not the panic or paranoia; the mood swings are not gone just more subdued.

“We are going to be there tonight” Mickey informs Lip and the eldest Gallagher promises to make arrangements. Ian picks the phone reluctantly and asks his brother to not bring the rest of the family. Lip promises to come alone. 

Mickey doesn’t comment on this - that apprehension of facing his family. Ian looks guiltily at the phone after he hangs up and sits down on the bed. 

"I just... they are going to all want to talk and ask questions and..."  He shrugs

Mickey doesn't know if Ian's not ready to face a big crowd or just doesn't want his younger siblings to see him like that. 

"It's your family, man - your decision" He makes sure to repeat it "It's  _your_  fucking decision" 

Ian thinks about it for a little while. 

"Mickey, I'm not sure I'm able to make the best decisions right now. I think my brain's kinda too screwed up..." 

He looks helpless, open, vulnerable and Mickey can't stop himself leaning over and pressing his lips against the redhead’s forehead.

"Then, we'll fucking make them together, ok? You and me... Come on" 

Ian takes his hand.

 

***

It’s a bit easier to hold the panic at bay than it was the day before, but Ian still feels jumpy and paranoid during the drive. It’s difficult not to let his eyes linger on random car that seem strange for some reason or think about his hitchhiking journey.

Mickey’s hand on his thigh feels like a single point grounding him to the universe.  Most of the time it just rests lightly, but every once in a while, Mickey squeezes his fingers. 

“Sorry” Ian says after another squeeze makes him aware that he’s been tapping his leg non-stop. 

“The fuck’s happening up there, tough guy?” Mickey motions to his head

Ian let’s out a bitter laugh.

“Too fucking much” He covers Mickey’s hand with his own “I still can’t... I’m still not sure it’s real. You, back home, with me”

“It’s fucking real, man, believe me” Mickey bites his lip and smirks lightly “Too much shit happened for someone to come up with it”

Ian considers it, allows the thought to settle in his head.

“Tell me about it. The cartel, about how you got out” He asks quietly “So that I stop inventing shit in my head” 

And Mickey does.

 

***

"What's that place?" Ian asks when the hit the border of Chicago. It’s dark already and he’s feeling jittery again.

"You fucking brother texted me the address. It's some Northside hospital, supposed to be really great"

"I don't have insurance, Mick" Ian realises suddenly. He doesn't have a job or salary or insurance anymore. 

"That's why we are going to this place - the fucker said they have a free program"

Mickey glances at him sideways, eyes squinting in worry and Ian hates putting it there.

"Look, it's just a couple of days, right? They get you pills sorted and then you can go back to doctor Foster"

"I can't afford, Dr Foster!" Ian feels a settling of hysteria in his voice "I told you I don't have insurance anymore!"

"Yeah, you don't fucking worry about, ok?" Mickey shrugs and Ian stares at him "we take care of each other, remember?" He reaches out and squeezes Ian's knee. 

And Ian wants to protest, wants to argue, wants to say that he doesn't want Mick paying for his therapy. But more than that he wants to lean against Mick and never let him go. He settles on covering the brunette's hand on his knee and intervening their fingers.

The road stretches in front of them, familiar streets and roads slowly appearing on the signs. They are probably half an hour away from the city. Half an hour away from the hospital. And Ian suddenly doesn't want to go. 

It's just a couple of days, he knows, maybe only 24 hours if the clinic's free - they wouldn't want to waste bed space. But he's  _only_  been with Mick for less than 48 hours. He's only just began believing that this was real - Mick's hand on his knee, his smell around him, his body right next to him. How's he going to keep believing it’s real when Mickey is not right next to him? And what if... He remembers last time, how out of it he got under the meds, how he couldn't even understand that Mickey was there... How hard it must have been for Mick...

"Ian?" Mickey shifts his hand on his knee and Ian realizes that he's been squeezing it hard, too hard.

"You shouldn't visit me!" He blurts out suddenly "If you don’t want to, don't visit me! Just come pick me up... please" The last word comes out so quietly it's barely there.

"Wha...?" Mickey swirls to the side of the road and parks haphazardly on the shoulder.

"The fuck do you mean, don't visit you?" He turns and stares at Ian intensely, his lip half-bitten. Ian looks down at this familiar display of anger.

"It's just... I know it will suck and I'll be... And you'll hate it. So, you don't have to, honestly" He dares a look at the ex-con "But when I get out... Mick, please, just... If you are not there... I don't even have your number..."

He's making a right mess of it, unable to explain why he needs Mickey to meet him on the other side. The brunette reaches out towards Ian's face.

"Man..." He swallows "I didn't fucking find you to abandon you at the nut house and not show up"

He must see in Ian's face that it's not only that, that it's not what Ian is worried about, not exactly. His face scrunches for a second in confusion and the softens.

"Fuck, Ian" he forces the redhead to look at him and, God, how did Ian survive for so long without being able to disappear in the blueness of his eyes. Suddenly Mickey surges forward and presses hard bruising kiss to his lips.

"I'm real, ok? I'm fucking real and I'll be fucking real in two days from now. And I'll visit you every day and when you get out, I'll be right here to meet you, ok?" He threads his hand through Ian's hair "I don't give a fuck if we are going to Gallaghers or ours, you are not getting rid of me for even a second, got it?" 

Ian stares at him, his brain shortcut on that single word. 

"Ours?" He asks quietly, hesitantly, not trusting his own mind and ears.

"Yes, ours. You got a problem with that?" Mickey's eyes sparkle and it's Ian's turn to surge forward and capture Mickey's mouth. They kiss sloppily for a few seconds before Ian feels tears burning in his eyes and wretches away to hide his face in Mick's neck. _Fuck_ , why is he constantly on the verge of crying these days? Mickey doesn't seem to mind at all, just presses his cheek to the top of Ian's head and kisses his temple. 

"And I’m going to give you my number, ok? You got to call me if you need anything. If you want me to pick you up or bring you anything, you fucking call me"

"I don’t have a phone, Mickey, and I wouldn’t be allowed to keep one inside anyway" He mumbles "There is public phone, but if I’m out of it, I’ll forget your number or lose it.... I lost your address in New Mexico; didn’t really know where I was going" he admits.

Mick's teeth clamp down on his lip for a moment, his entire face splitting with pain.

"It's fine" he murmurs quietly "It's fine, just wait a moment"

He reaches over Ian into the glove compartment and rampages around. Ian tries to overt his eyes - he doesn't want to see condoms or lube or anything really that would imply that Mickey's been with other people. But the brunette comes up with a marker.

"Roll up you sleeve" He instructs. Ian stares at him incomprehensible and Mickey lifts his eyebrow "You are worried you are going to forget my number or mix things up? Let's fucking get it where you won't miss it" 

Quickly, Ian rolls up the right sleeve of his hoodie and stretches his arm towards Mickey. The brunette draws the numbers of his mobile phone on his arm. The form is an uneven, messy line, the figures crammed where Mickey runs out of space near his elbow. But they feel like a lifeline on Ian's arm. Tentatively he presses his fingers against one of the lines -  the paint is already dried and holds well.

"Should be good for a couple of days, yeah?" Mickey looks at him seriously and honestly and like there is nothing more important for him right now than making sure that Ian is feeling safe and secure. And those fucking tears are back in business, so he just reaches out and kisses Mickey again.

 

***

The closer is their destination, the more Mickey is feeling like jumping out of his fucking skin. He doesn't want to let Ian out if his sight, let alone see him disappear behind the walls of the psych ward. And as much as the marker thing was for Ian's sake, it was for his as well. Because, fuck, does he want to freak out right now! But Ian's already on edge, constantly shooting him quick glances as if to assure himself that he's there, and Mickey doesn't want to lose his shit.

It's already dark when they make it to the hospital. Mickey takes a turn around the parking lot and spots two figures near the entrance. The stockier short one - clearly the curly haired fucker - waves at him. It doesn't take a genius to recognize who is the tall slim long-haired woman next to him.

"Fuck" Ian breathes out and tenses next to him. Mickey's hand goes back to the redhead's knee. 

He parks the car in the first slot he sees, a couple hundred feet from the Gallaghers. Next to him Ian takes a couple of deep panicked breaths and then slowly pushes the door open. Mickey feels a rush of affection so deep that he can barely breath himself. His  _guy_ , almost facing problems face on. Mickey makes it to Ian's side just in time to watch Fiona barrel into Ian, arms wide stretched. He hears Ian's grasp of pain and fights the urge to throw the eldest Gallagher off her brother.

"Ian!" She whispers and there are tears in her eyes "Ian, oh my God! We were so worried!" She hugs him again and then Lip is upon the redhead to give him another hug.

"Are you all right? How do you feel? Oh my God!" They all speak at the same time "Debbie wanted to come as well, but she has a shift" 

"I'm fine" Ian manages and Mickey cringes at how low his voice sounds

"Yeah, except you are crushing his broken ribs" He can’t hold back the snap in his voice. The Gallaghers look at him with a bit of surprised hostility, like they forgot he was here. Then Fiona's face softens and she turns to him.

"Thank you for bringing him home, Mickey. Thank you!" 

 

***

Fiona and Lip let him go a little bit, but their verbal onslaught continues. 

"How are feeling? Have you eaten? You might miss the dinner. Do you have any clothes? I brought you some"

"You look good, man. We are so happy you are back. They are going to take care of you here. You'll be on your feet in no time"

Ian feels like he's being bitten from all sides - after a couple of days in Mick's company when he's always the loudest, it's hard to cope with noise and intrusion.

"I'm fine, yeah, good" he mumbles and desperately reaches out behind. A second later Mickey’s warm hand envelopes his own.

"Are we going to go inside or are we trying to freeze our asses here?" He asks casually and tags Ian towards the entrance. 

Inside is much nicer than the previous hospital he visited, but it doesn't change the atmosphere of ... _sick, closed off, what am I doing here?_ Ian freezes for a second and Mickey stops next to him.

"You ready, firecrotch?" he whispers and Ian forces himself to nod. He _has to_ be ready.

"It's a good place" Lip steers Ian towards the chairs while Fiona goes to pick up a registration form "They could only offer 36 hours stay at this point, but after that there is chance you can get on a longer program.

"Longer?" Ian whispers. Mickey freezes next to him.

"The hell he needs to stay here longer for?" He sounds combative 

"It will be good for him, Mickey. After..." Fiona face goes pale and her eyes fill with tears "Ian, you remember, Monica, she never did after...But you'll be fine" she takes his hand and belatedly Ian realizes that his sister thinks he tried to kill himself. She thinks he walked in front of the car in Omaha on purpose.

"I wasn't trying to kill myself, Fiona, I promise"

"Of course, not" she squeezes his hand tighter and caresses his cheek; she looks like she doesn't believe him for a second "Of course not. But it will be good for you to have someone take care of you, someone professional"

"It's good here, man, I promise. They'll put you on your feet in no time" Ian shudders and looks at Mick helplessly.

"Whatever you decide, tough guy, ok? Your call" The brunette says quietly and Ian thinks about how wonderful it would be to just go "their" place right now or in a couple of days. But then he thinks about Monica and how she never got better and how much pain it brought on them all. He thinks about how terrible he was to Mick last time around... 

The check in process is a blur. He's conscious of Mick being right next to him the entire time while he registers and waits for the orderly to collect him. 

“When can I visit him?” Mickey asks the nurse

“No visitation for the first 36 hours while the evaluation is happening” The nurse informs them gently and adds when she sees Ian going pale “But there is public phone inside, you can use it anytime” 

Ian can see Mickey’s biting his lip so hard he’s worried he’s going to bleed. His hand clamps down on Ian’s forearm where the numbers are and the redhead welcomes the pain.

“See, you get to rest properly, man” Lip pats him on the back “Focus on yourself”

Fiona thrusts a backpack full of clothes in his hands - why is there so many? Both his siblings hug him tightly and walk with him until it's time to disappear behind the doors. He glances at Mick one last time.

"See you in 36 hours fire crotch, ok?" He squeezes the arm again and quickly presses their foreheads together. Ian can feel his hand, like a point of heat, on his back right until the doors start to close behind him. Already he feels cold and alone. 

 

***

He's got enough common sense left in him to fight the impulse to destroy the doors that separate them now. 

"Thank you" Fiona touches his shoulder "Thank you for bringing him home" 

Mickey slips from under her arm - right now he can't bare anyone's touch but Ian's.

"God, I can't believe that this is happening again..." She continues on "We'll need to arrange something for when he comes home. He's so thin!"

She draws on and on as they walk towards the exit, but Mickey's not listening, his thoughts focused on the other side of the doors. Gallaghers leave first, Fiona still babbling, Lip silent as he gives him a short nod. 

Mickey gets in his car, turns the heating on and reclines his seat. He can stay here for a little while...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's probably the sappiest chapter I've written... But it's still somewhat angsty... I feel like I'm writing angsty fluff or fluffy angst... Whatever, this is what my head come up with, as usual :) 
> 
> Also, I got some insane number of kudos after my note in the last chapter. THANK YOU!!! I really-really appreciate it and the comments!!!
> 
> Finally, I forgot to mention, in case anyone is wondering after the wound scene in the last chapter. In this universe Mickey never got the tattoo from 6x01. I know there is a difference of opinions on it and I saw other authors work this in their stories wonderfully, but I never liked that plotline because I saw it as an attempt to dumb Mickey down - a) He knows how to spell "Gallagher", he's done it in S1!; b) Tattooing a guy's name on your chest in prison is a sure way to some nasty trouble and I think Mickey's survival instincts are just too strong for let it happen


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey is relieved as fuck to only find Lip walking towards him as he waits outside the clinic. The doors open at 12:00 am but Mickey’s been here for 3 hours already and has smoked half his pack. He’s not in the mood for a Gallagher crowd.

_Late February, Chicago_

 

***

Mickey is relieved as fuck to only find Lip walking towards him as he waits outside the clinic. The doors open at 12:00 am but Mickey’s been here for 3 hours already and has smoked half his pack. He’s not in the mood for a Gallagher crowd. 

Ian’s waiting for them in the visitors’ room, wearing the green robes and with the coat ( _Mickey’s coat_ ) around his shoulders. He looks tired and self-drawn, more so then when they last saw each other in Mickey’s opinion, but maybe he’s projecting his own sleepless nights onto the redhead. 

“You ok, man?” he asks quietly as sits next to the redhead on the uncomfortable plastic chair, gently puts his hand on his shoulder. Fuck, he missed him like crazy despite only seeing him 36 hours before and talking on the phone twice yesterday.

“How are you doing, buddy?” Lip asks in that pseudo-cheerful, all-is-great in the world tone that Mickey hates so much.  

“I’m ok” Ian speaks in a slow, heavily medicated voice that

“They are treating you well here? How’s the food?” Lip blabs away. Mickey feels Ian pressing into his side a little bit, like he does not exactly mean to. 

“Food’s all right” Ian nods

“And you’ve seen the doctor, right? What are they saying?” 

Ian nods again and suddenly turns to Mickey

“They want me to stay here for another two weeks” 

Mickey sucks in his breathe and forces to relax his hand lest he leaves a massive bruise on Ian’s shoulder. 

“That’s great, man!” Lip claps him on the knee and Mickey resists an urge to clock him into silence. 

“Your choice, tough guy” he forces himself to say “We’ll do what’s best for you”

Ian opens his mouth to say something and immediately closes it - a doctor comes up to them, young, efficient-looking, radiating fucking positivity all around her.

“Mr Gallagher? Oh good, your family’s here” she greets them both “Have you had a chance to discuss my suggestion with them?”

“He just told us” Lip gets up “So, you think you should stay here for longer? Can you make it happen? We don’t have insurance”

“Yes, we just had another sponsored place free up” The doctor flicks through the chart absentmindedly “I recommended that Ian stays with us for another two weeks. He’s been off his meds for a couple of months and his previous dose wasn’t working properly. We are trying something different“ She lists a couple of hard-to-pronounce meds “But as you know there is no guarantee. It might be a rocky ride in terms of mood swings, dose adjustments, side effects. We recommend that the patients without strong support system, spend the time at the hospital, and as I understood Ian used to live alone before his relapse” 

Mickey wants to clock her as well, but at this point she thankfully turns back to Ian and starts speaking to him like he’s actually in the room.

“It’s your decision, of course, Ian. But I recommend that you stay with us for a while” 

“What do you say, man?” Lip drops back to sit next to Ian and throws his arm around his shoulders “Sounds like a great plan”

Ian lowers his head and then shoots a glance Mickeys way.

“Your choice, tough guy, ok?” Mickey forces himself to reassure him “I’ll be here whatever you decide”

“It’s best for everybody, Ian” Lip says

“Ok” Ian looks down “I guess I’ll... I’ll stay”

Mickey’s heart sinks at the thought of two weeks without Ian, but he forces himself to nod.

“Ok”

“Great!” The doctor glances at her chart “Look, there are some papers we need to take care of and we’ll have to relocate you to another bed. What if you spend about an hour here with your family and I’ll call you when we are ready?”

Everybody nods and she hurries away, heels clipping on the floor. Lip says something about excellent care and shit like that, then glances quickly at his phone.

 “Look, Ian, I actually have a class in half an hour. I can easily skip it if you want me to, but...”

“Go” Ian sounds hollow “It’s all right, you’ll have to wait for a long time”

Lip promises to visit tomorrow with Fiona and other Gallaghers and fucks off to his college. As soon as he leaves, Ian sags a little before he turns to Mickey.

“You don’t need to stay long, you know?” He’s hangs his head “I’ll be all right”

“Like hell!” Mickey grumbles “I get an hour with you and I’m not trading it away” But he needs to get away for at least one minute if he wants to keep himself from begging Ian to change his mind “I need to piss, though. You want something?”

“Water” Ian mumbles and the lowers his head down.

 

***

Mickey makes his way to the water machine in the corridor walking slowly, trying to get himself under the control. Everything about the place gives him major creeps and the thought of Ian here, for another two weeks...

But it’s Ian’s decision and if it’s what’s best for him so, if that’s what he wants.

He stops; thinks back to Ian’s waiting for them in the room before the visiting hours start, the coat around his shoulders, his two calls yesterday. Does Ian _want_ to be here?

 _“I’m not sure I’m making the best decisions right now”_ Ian said so himself.

He looks around at the grey walls, expensive furniture, people walking around like they are stoned and not in a good way. Is that the best environment for Ian? Gallaghers seem to think so, but Gallaghers are all hang up on what worked or didn’t work for their mother. And what do they know anyway? Neither Jonathan nor Dr Foster told him that long-term stay was mandatory.

_“For people without a strong support system”_

But Ian  _does_  have a support system - he has Mickey. And if Ian doesn’t want to be here and Mickey doesn’t want him to, what the hell are they doing?

 

***

Ian sags into his seat as soon as Mickey leaves, grateful for the short respite – another five minutes and he’s going to start sobbing like a little kid. He lowers his head and tries to keep the panic at bay. 

God, he _can’t_. He can’t spend another two weeks at this place, full of shadows and noises. The days are bearable, filled with nice doctors and friendly nurses. But the nights... Laying in his bed, missing Mickey, not knowing what’s happening, afraid to wake up in the morning facing a different reality.

But he thinks about the doctor’s words, the new meds, the shit that comes with it, the risk of falling off the wagon again and he doesn’t want to put his family through it again. He doesn’t want to put Mickey through it again.

Mickey will visit, he tries to reassure himself. He will visit and they will speak on the phone. And Gallaghers will visit as well and... 

God, he _can’t_!

 

***

Ian is still sitting in the same position as he left him a couple of minutes ago, though his head is hanging lower and he’s shoulders are hunched.

“Hey” Mickey drops on his knees in front of the redhead “Hey Ian” he palms his face and the tears he sees in Ian’s eyes might indicate that he’s making the right decision.

“I fucking hate this place, ok? I hate the thought of leaving you here for two weeks. I’ll go fucking crazy if I spend another night away from you” He swallows and adds for Ian’s benefit, in case he’s reading his lover wrong “And if you want to stay, that’s fine, I will fucking deal with it” 

“But if you don’t, then fuck this place! Let's go home, now” Ian stares at him, his eyes huge as saucers, the same deer-in-the-highlights, half hoping, half disbelieving impression that Mickey saw on his face that night in Gallagher house when he was late to greet him from the hospital. 

Ian nods quickly, once-twice, his gaze never breaking from Mickey. 

“I want to go home” His entire body suddenly sags with relief and he closes his eyes and leans against Mickey’s hands “Please, Mick, let’s just go home”

“Ok” Mickey’s head comes down to lay on top of Ian's “Ok, tough guy. I got you...”

 

***

It is not as easy as just getting up and leaving. They have to wait for the doctor again to collect Ian's meds and sit through her trying to convince Ian to stay. At some point, tired of how Ian is getting tense and agitated again, Mickey just interrupts her.

”Look, you know you can't hold him here so you can either keep talking and we leave or you could save your precious time by shutting up and giving Ian his meds. We know the drill, we know the risks. Ian is going to take his meds, follow the regime, avoid stress and go to therapy. If he has an episode either manic or depressive, he has me and I will deal with it. What else do you fucking want?”

He can see she isn’t 100% convinced but it doesn't matter. He knows he could be there for Ian and nothing else matters. It takes another half an hour before they can collect the meds - a week’s dose only, clearly the doctor’s way to ensure Ian is back soon. It doesn’t matter. Mick knows Ian has no intention of skipping medication and trying to argue would just extend the time they have to spend in the place. He helps Ian change, collects his backpack, grabs his hand and gets the hell out. 

When they finally are back in the crisp February air, Mickey feels himself taking the first proper breath in two days, since he said goodbye to Ian. 

In the car, Ian falls asleep immediately, confirming Mickey suspicions about how he spent the previous nights. The ex-con feels the pull of sleep as well, so he just concentrates on the road while his hand rests lightly on the younger man’s thigh.

Once home he has to almost drag Ian to the bedroom and help him undress. For a moment Mickey’s worried that such passivity indicates a start of a depressive episode, but in the end decides that it is just bone deep tiredness. Ian is lucid, his movements controlled if slow and when Mickey covers him with the blanket him, Ian grabs his hand

”Don't go, please” he whispers, eyes already shut tight against the world. And the truth is, Mickey’s pretty tired himself, so he finds nothing better to do than drop down next to Ian and hold him as they both fall asleep.

 

***

Mickey lets Ian sleep for most of the reminder of the day, waking him just a couple of times so that the redhead could drink some water. Ian remains stable, waking easily if begrudgingly, drinking water and going to the toilet on his own accord before going back to sleep. He answers questions clearly and turns in bed frequently calming Micky worries about an episode. He’s tempted to call Jonathan anyway, just to check, but it feels strange now, like talking about Ian behind his back. He does call Dr Foster – Ian has an appointment with her soon anyway – and the calm way she accepts the update settles his nerves.

The brunette glances at the clock as he moves around the kitchen. He will let Ian sleep for another half an hour before waking him to have dinner and his pills. He puts the pasta on the stove (damn, he wishes they were back at the Guerreros and he could feed Ian Regina’s cooking - no sane man could ever-ever resist it!). 

The abrupt slamming of the door brings him out of his reverie. 

“The fuck you are playing at, Milkovich?” Lip Gallagher storms into the house, followed by his sister. 

Mickey signs and curses under his breath. A couple of hours ago he texted Fiona letting her know Ian decided to leave the centre. He thought it was better the Gallaghers learned the news from him rather than discovered it when they go to visit their brother. Judging by their fuming expressions that was a mistake.

”Keep you voice down, fucker. Ian's asleep”

”Asleep? You sure?” Lip mocks him “Or maybe he’s going into a depressive episode?” 

“Lip” Fiona admonishes him in that I-am-a-parent voice “What happened, Mickey?”

”Nothing happened” Mickey feels like his well-kept patience is wearing thin “I brought Ian home, he's asleep now, will take his meds and eat in a little while”

”How can you be so fucking stupid?!” Lip fumes again, his voice raising another octave “He decided to stay in the program and you just take him out?”

”He didn't decide anything” Mickey stops trying to soften his voice “You decided that it was what he needed. I could clearly see he didn't want to stay”

”Ian's bipolar, Mickey” Fiona reminds him as if he could fucking forget that tiny unimportant fact “he's not exactly capable of rational thought now!” 

”Fuck you! He's sick, not incapable! He looked as if the walls were going to jump at him in that place. I wasn't going to leave him there! But it was his decision and he has a right to make it!”

”Well, congratulations!” Lip uses that same sarcastic voice “You are a protector of civil rights of the year! Endangering your sick boyfriend’s life just so that you can have it easy! Oh, wait, he's not your fucking boyfriend! He dumped your ass! Or are you back together now? Because Ian is once again unstable enough to let you into his life?”

”Shut the fuck up! That's definitely none of your fucking business” It hurts to hear it because of how close to being the truth it sounds, but he’s slowly getting over the belief that Gallaghers know what’s best for Ian. 

”We have been here before, Mickey” Fiona insisted “You know how bad it’s going to get. You know that Ian needs professional help”

“He is getting professional help, for fuck sake!” Mickey exploded “He got himself admitted, he got his meds, he's going to therapy! What else do you want?”

”Fuck!” Lip explodes and kicks the sofa “Ian can't take care of himself right now! What if he has a manic episode? What if he tries to kill himself? Who is going to take care of him?”

”Me” Mickey says simply “He has me to take of him”

”Because you did such an amazing job of it in the last two years, right Mickey?” Lip again “Fucking off to prison, fucking off to Mexico! How long until you run, hmm? And who is going to be left with this mess afterwards?”

”You know fuck all about any of this, Gallagher, so help me...” Mickey steps  towards Lip but stops in his tracks when he sees the awakened  look on the Gallaghers faces as they stare behind his shoulder. He turns around and sees Ian standing in the door, his expression terribly hurt. 

“Ian...” Fiona whispers “We didn't mean...”

”I'm crazy, Fiona, but I can still make my own decisions. They might suck and I might regret them but they are my mess to solve” Ian says firmly, though Mickey can recognize the wobble in his voice 

“Ian, buddy, we are just worried... “ Lip takes a step towards his brother but stops midway when he sees Ian closing off. Fiona’s not to be deterred though. 

”Ian, I'm sorry, but you know how it is! You disappeared for two months, you got hurt, you ended up living on the streets. Of course, we are worried. We want you to be safe! Remember when Monica tried to kill herself? We were all there and we just couldn't do anything! And after you..."

“I haven't tried to kill myself" Ian's voice rises "I had an accident” Mickey hates how detached his voice gets but still admires the way Ian forces himself to continue. 

“And I'm not Monica!” Ian swallows  “You have to accept it... you have to accept it...” he almost begs and Mickey moves to go to him but his next words stop him in his track. 

“And Mickey has never bailed on me. I abandoned him, I pushed him away and I regretted it so much it pushed me towards the end. I love him and I won't allow you to speak about him like that again!”

And now it’s Mickey who has to work through a block of tears in his throat

 “And I don't know why, but he promised to take care of me and I know he will”

Ian closes his eyes and his voice shakes.  

“Please, leave” He asks just as quietly.

Lip and Fiona look at each other, like they are starting to realize it is not the battle they can win. They stare at Ian for another minute but he wouldn't meet their eyes. Finally, they turn around and leave shooting him angry looks. Mickey doesn’t give a damn - in the back of his mind he knows it was love for Ian that drove their behaviour. But right now, he wants them gone, done with and fucking away. 

Once the door closes behind them, Mickey goes to Ian and silently envelopes him in the hug. 

“I'm not Monica” Ian whispers into his ear, though Mickey’s sure he’s talking with himself.

“I know” says Mickey and the assurance seems to be enough for his lover. They stay like that together until the water on the stove starts boiling.

 

***

They have dinner on the couch in living room, enjoying the quiet. Ian doesn't have the best of appetites, but he manages to get through half of his small portion. He can feel the pills working on him as his senses dull, but so does the panic. Mickey is sitting across from him, their legs touching, their shoulders close to each other. The TV is on with some bullshit show, the sounds low just a background noise. Mickey doesn’t argue when Ian puts away the half full plate; just gets up and brings his pills over. 

“What did the doctor say about these?” He motions towards the bright bottles; Ian shrugs.

“She wants to try a new mix. She thinks my old ones weren’t working properly. I got on that antidepressant in September...” He forces himself not to think about why he changed his meds; not here and now “She thinks they might have caused this thing, like in-between depression and mania. I didn’t realize I was going crazy, you know?”

“Yeah...” Mickey nods “Mixed state” Ian looks up surprised at the knowledge; he only learned about it from the doctor at the clinic. 

“How do you know about it?”

Mickey pushes his own plate aside and stretches on the sofa bringing Ian with him gently but firmly so that he could lean against his shoulder. Mickey’s hands find the back of his head and start scrapping his sculp slowly, his eyes apparently focused on television. 

“I met that guy in Mexico” He explains “Former shrink... An alcoholic through and through, but he’s a smart guy...”

It’s strange to hear Mickey talk about his life in Mexico, the one that’s so far away from Ian, from Chicago. It’s even weirder to learn that Mickey became friends with a shrink. And a small part of Ian feels a stab of jealousy at that, at Mickey’s life; but a bigger one is happy that Mick ended up having friends, having people in his corner.

Mickey’s hand is drawing circles on his shoulder. It's peaceful and calming and despite sleeping most of the day Ian feels tiredness overtake him. It's not the same tiredness that draws him under in the low phase, when he doesn't want anything, doesn't care about anything, can't force himself to move and briefing hurts. It's more like he finally feels the pressure of the last several months, of not eating or sleeping properly, of hitting rock bottom of desperation, of running and suppressing. 

And maybe it goes deeper than that to the last two years, of being alone even when with someone, of missing Mickey, of pretending that he was fine even when he was not.

Either way, right now he just wants to be still, to lie in the quiet and let himself be; enjoy Mickeys tenderness and care and love. 

The thought of him makes his heart ache a little bit and his eyes sting from love in his own heart and despoiled at being forgiven. He can't resist planting a kiss to the centre of chest he's leaning against. The hand on his head stills and then he feels the ghost of Mickeys own lips on top of his head. He closes his eyes and just breaths. 

 

***

Next morning Mickey is cautious, part of him worried about Ian not being able to get up or, on the opposite, waking up at 5 am to go on a fucking run. 

It doesn't happen. Ian is slow to wake up and slightly groggy, but he does get out of bed, takes a shower, does a couple of stretches, takes his pills with the breakfast. His appetite is still shot to death and Mickey hasn't seen him as thin since high school, but it doesn't matter. He's not going to mother Ian to death and as long as Ian is responsive he'll let him decide. 

After breakfast Ian offers to do the dishes while Mickey is sitting at the kitchen table smoking. He can basically see the wheels turning in his head but doesn't press either. Ian's got a lot on his mind, but Mickey knows he'll share it with him sooner or later, because in his normal state Ian just can't help being open, keep his heart off his sleeve, not push for what he wants. 

And he's right. The moment Ian switches off the water and leans against the cabinet, his back to Mickey (too thin, fuck, shoulder blades too protruding), he knows the time has come. Ian turns around to face him rapidly as if he's afraid of losing his nerve. But once he catches Mickeys gaze he doesn't let go, doesn't back down, just clinched his jaw in a familiar stubborn way.

”I want to talk to you about something” he tries for cool, but Mickey can still detect the slight tremble behind his calmness and he knows how important it is. He nods

”Fire away, firecrotch”

”I've been off my meds for 2 months” Ian says I am back now, but I have no idea how soon they will start working or whether they are going to work at all” He pauses, swallows, holds Mickeys gaze like there is no tomorrow “I might get sick, like shakes and fever and everything... I might go into depressing episode or have another manic stage...”

”You going somewhere with it? Because, I'm pretty sure we both heard your doctor talk us through it yesterday”

”I love you!” Ian blurts and Mickey freezes, tries to work around the lump in his throat “I want you to know it because... “ finally Ian breaks off his gaze “I might not be able to tell you that later. Might do things that would lead you to believe I don't appreciate what you do for me, what you did yesterday. But I do, I do appreciate them and I do love you, so much” When he lifts his gaze again it's a little less steady but just as earnest.

Mickey turns around to pour himself more coffee from the pot or rather to steady himself and think of what to say. 

“Takes a bit more than your grumpiness to fucking scare me away, tough guy” He finally offers

“I know” Ian nods “But I don’t want you to... I don’t want you to have to carry me, not alone. You have to...” He swallows “You have to take care of yourself... You can’t just let me, that fucking thing, to rule your life”

“Ian...” Mickey turns to re-assure him 

“Promise me” Ian steps forward “Promise that you’ll take care of yourself. Talk with that guy Jonathan if necessary, tell me when it gets too much. Promise?”

“Promise” Mickey says after a while “But you are dreaming if you think you’ll ever be too much” 

Ian nods, but doesn't relax and Mickey knows they are not done, they have just started.

”Anything else's you want to discuss” He lets the sarcasm into his voice “As we seem to be we having a fucking gay heart to heart here”

”Yes... I... I...” Ian swallows and then meets his eyes firmly “I need to get tested” 

“Tested?” For a second Mickey doesn't get it, confused “The hell you want to get tested for?”

He sees the way Ian's face closing off, his gaze dropping and his shoulders slumping. 

“Oh” he swallows against the bitter vile taste raising in his throat “OK, let's get tested”

He’s happy to leave it like that, but apparently Ian can't.

”And we should probably hold off sex until we do” He murmurs “Just you know, we are not really good with condoms”

Which is true, they’ve always been terribly with condoms; the promise of each other’s flesh too strong to resist. 

“Ok, then we do” Mickeys agreed easily  even though the ship has already sailed - they had already fucked and oh how they fucked! 

Suddenly, Ian’s expression changes and he’s looks furious with him.

”Then we do ?” He asks disbelievingly “Just like that?”

”What do you fucking want to hear, man!” Mickey frowns 

“God!” Ian rubs his hands against his face “How about a little concern? I mean I could have infected you with something serious and you just sit here and accept the possibility like nothing happened?”

“You got tested after our little adventure?” Mickey asks and watches Ian face go pale “When, you know, we fucked like bunnies without a rubber even though I just got out of the can” 

Ian nods reluctantly, his chin out stubbornly. 

“So why are you expecting me to flip?” He asks “You concerned about something in particular, Ian? You dick fucking falling off? Your pubes are itching? You knowingly slept with AIDs? Because as far as I'm concerned, whatever it is – it is just a possibility and no more reason to get concerned than anything else...”

”I don't know” Ian interrupts angrily, pushing himself away from the counter and past Mickey to circle the room “I don't fucking know if I slept with an AIDS carrier or someone with gonorrhoea, ok!? Because I can barely remember what I did in the last 2 months, but I know it couldn't have been pretty”

”And so fucking what, Ian?” Mickey follows him “What do you expect to hear, hm?! You had a manic episode and you lost it and you might have done some shit. Doesn't change anything”

”I don't remember what I did back then either” Ian finally stops and stares at him. And things start to make a bit more sense now, because Mickey knows what " _then_ " Ian is talking about. That summer when Mickey though they were happy and Ian was screwing random guys. And Mickey can't say it doesn't hurt when Ian continues.

”I don't remember how many, what I did, how it happened. Not in many details at least. I would have probably not mentioned the porno to you if you hadn't asked about the money” He’s staring at Mickey now as if daring him and while part of Mickey wants to escape the conversation, another one wants to finally out it in the ground.

”Ian” he says softly and makes a two forward “You were sick. You did not even know what you were doing...”

”I did know!” Ian swallows “I might not remember what happened, but I did know what I was doing was wrong, that it would hurt you. I just couldn't fucking control it. I slept with a dozen of guys and I did a porno bareback and I knew what I was doing. I want you to know it”

There is so much self-hate in his eyes, so much fear and yet, he clearly forces himself to continue. 

“And I want you to realize that I'm still sick and I'm still barely able to control it when I'm manic and... “

“You trying to break up with me again, Gallagher?” Mickey interrupts him and Ian stares at him almost fearfully.

”No!” he mumbles “No, I...”

” Then what the fuck are you doing with this little speech? You want to scare me away? Want to show me how awful you are when you lose control? I'm fucking talking, bitch!” He grumbles angrily when he sees Ian's about to interrupt him “You want to show me what I'm getting into?”

”Surprise, I fucking know! Knew as soon as you got your ass locked up in the psych ward, knew when you got out, knew when I finally manned up to go to you that I was up for it. I was all in. Still am, always will be. So this is it, that's on my side. You want to talk about it, fire away, I'll listen if I don't fall asleep. But don't fucking expect any reaction from me other than what you fucking got”

He’s breathing as a horse at the end of his monologue. Ian is silent for a moment, just staring at him. Finally, he speaks:

”I'm sorry I cheated on you” He says softly, fight gone from his voice and his eyes are purely magnetic “ I'm sorry I never said sorry for it before. I am, truly sorry” His voice shakes “And I'm sorry I can't promise it won't happen again. Because, I don't know what would happen if I lost control, but I’ll do my best to try and stop it. And I'm sorry you have to deal with it on top of everything else and I'm sorry I can't love you better” 

Now it's Mickeys turn to be silent and swallow and try to control his voice. He lets the silence hang so that when he speaks Ian knows he means it. 

“You love me just fine, tough guy” He pauses, watches Ian finally breath out “better than anybody ever did. Still have no idea how I got so lucky. And if in order to keep it I have to lock your cock up every once in a while or fuck you every 5 minutes, I'll still take it” He pauses, watches Ian exhale and relax just a fraction more “In fact I've been told I look good walking bowlegged” 

That brings a semi laughter out of Ian and he snorts. Mickey slowly makes his way over to him and pulls him into a hug. Ian's quick to response and the way he clings to Mickey let's him know just how much he had to work to keep his distance during the conversation. But there is one point that Mickey feels he needs to make, so he quickly spins them around and slams Ian lightly into the kitchen wall

”But if you asswipe decide one more time that you are all "better" on your own and attempt to drop my ass, I'll fuck you up so badly they will have to search for your body for months. Got it?”

Ian stares at him, his eyes unbelievably beautiful. He swallows and nods and then he’s surging towards Mickey, his mouth finding his and, fuck, he missed it.

“Hey, who told you that you look good walking bow legged?” Ian frowns when they pull apart.

”Dumbass...” murmurs Mickey but his eyes are sparkling with laughter. He allows them to stay like that for a while before pulling away 

“Come on, let's get dressed and get this fucking test done with” Mickey offers. It's good reason to get out of the house and he’s had enough heart to heart for today. 

“What now?” Ian looks surprised 

“What you want to chit chat some more? The fuck, Gallagher?” He blurts seeing hesitation on Ian's face “What now?” he fakes annoyance, but only half-heartedly. He's much too comfortable, much too happy they seem to have successfully fought another ghost

“It's just ... “Ian hesitates, but it's a different kind of hesitant, the one that doesn't set Mickeys heart on ice “You know the mental health assessment thing I need to complete like every day?”

Mickey nods.

“I thought... Would you do it together with me? Like you'll ask questions and I'll answer. This way you will be able to tell me if... anything goes wrong...”

Something warm blossoms in Mickey’s chest. It's a ... fucking sign... a fucking something he didn't quite know he wanted. Ian needs him, Ian is ready to share this with him and that means that Mickey gets to get worried, to ask questions and remind, gets to love Ian not only roughly and passionately - the way it always worked for them - but also in a gentler, kinder way that he had only started learning with Ian. It means that he gets to care.

“Of course, I would” he says simply and this time it's him who surges up to capture Ian's lips in his. 

 

*** 

Ian's a little nervous to be out of the house, if he's earnest. He hasn't really been much outside since Mickey found him and two months before that are more or less a blur of clubs and basements and crack houses so the Southside streets - quite in the late weekday morning - feel foreign and because of that almost scary. He's grateful for cold march weather allowing him to bundle up in heavy clothes that would hide him from the world. For a moment he feels like an imposter. He remembers it being the same after his previous low phase, prowling the streets, disoriented and jumpy before the familiarity of the environment sunk back under his skin.

This time around is easier though, with Mickey picking up a brisk pace next to him, his jacket wide open, cigarette hanging from his mouth, a perpetual fuck off vibe he exudes. He's been out of the South Side for years and still the spirit is alive within him. It serves as protection now, creating a bubble around both of them that keeps away unwanted attention. Mickey doesn’t hold his hand, but he bumps his shoulder against Ian's casually and that rough connection surprisingly makes him feel more secure than a tight embrace would.

They take an L to the free clinic and the entire experience ends up being nowhere near as awkward or depressing as Ian thought it would be. They spend about an hour in the waiting room, Mick absorbed in some car magazines and Ian just sitting next to him, nervously tapping with his leg, until Mickey clearly fed up with his fidgeting stomps on his foot. After that Ian just stares around the room, his thoughts inevitably trailing to Debbie and Franny; his sister’s shocking decision and the way it will affect her life. These thoughts are not all positive but they are not dark either, so they don't leave him anxious.

When the nurse calls his name Ian slightly hesitantly offers Mickey to go with him and is met with a disbelieving glance.

”You want me to fucking hold your hand, Gallagher, while the doctor plays with your dick?” Mickey stairs at him as if he had grown horns and Ian flips him off before disappearing in the room. 

He answers the doctor’s questions honestly and is inevitably reminded of going through something similar with Caleb. The contrast between the experiences is stark and for a moment the irony of his relationship with the black firefighter strikes him. He broke up with Mickey because he wanted to prove that he didn't need fixing and immediately went into relationships with someone who constantly tried to mould him according to some image by making him question his every belief about himself, "absolving" his sins and dishing out praise when Ian proved that he met these expectations. Ian pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind. It doesn't matter anymore. Relationship with Caleb brought him to EMT and that's something he would always be grateful for. The rest doesn't matter. 

By the time his brain, slightly sluggish from meds, arrives at the conclusion, the doctor’s done.

Mickey goes in after him, throwing some off-hand dick joke on the way and Ian goes outside to smoke as he waits. The walk home is slower, Mickey leading him through a labyrinth of quiet streets to the L tracks. They throw off hand comments, Ian shares his thoughts about Debbie and tells Mickey about her pregnancy and conflict with Fiona. By the time they get home Ian's drained and stumbling on his feet a little, his stamina short lived. Mickey makes them both coffee and sits them at the coffee table so that they can do the mental check list and Ian realizes that he is legitimately feeling not bad. 

 

***

Later that day after a nap and a dinner and a PlayStation session he and Mickey lie in bed and urgently hungrily jerk each other off as they kiss non-stop. It's something they haven't used to do much at all, skipping immediately to fucking in their relationships. It feels strange, but also right and Ian falls asleep almost immediately after coming. His last thought is that it might have actually been a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a couple of thoughts:
> 
> 1) I am in NO way implying that mental hospitals are bad. I'm sure for many patients, getting hospitalized is the best way to get life back. But I don't see it as good solution for Ian, particularly at this moment. Being with Mickey is too important for him right now and he's got bad experience with institutions.
> 
> 2) Fun fact - this is the first chapter I wrote for this fic, back when I did not yet have any solid backstory planned. It's just some scenes that popped into my head randomly. It's been re-written multiple times since then, of course, but still :)
> 
> 3) I have very-very bad opinion about Ian's relationship with Caleb and it will be voiced a couple of times in this fic. Maybe because the relationship happened so quickly after Gallavich break up or the way they ended in on the show? I think the idea was to make Caleb this sweet person who showed Ian what "normal" relationship looked like and I think he had a positive influence on Ian in terms of joining EMT. But I found him very passive-aggressive and manipulative, preying off Ian's insecurities, taking the "top" position psychologically (he explains, he guides, he "forgives"), while holding himself to double-standards.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back when Ian first moved in with Mick two years ago, the last thing he cared about was the decor of Milkovich house. His heart was so full of Mickey, of finally being able to be with him out in the open, and his brain was so muddled by his disorder that he didn't really give a damn about sharing with 6 other people, tiny bathrooms or enormous clutter. And after a while, all those things became "normal", a part of nice little domestic life with its own beloved patterns and quirks, like Svetlana's puffy eggs, Nika's ironing habits, the mess in his and Mickey's bedroom.

Early March, Chicago.

 

***

Back when Ian first moved in with Mick two years ago, the last thing he cared about was the decor of Milkovich house. His heart was so full of Mickey, of finally being able to be with him out in the open, and his brain was so muddled by his disorder that he didn't really give a damn about sharing with 6 other people, tiny bathrooms or enormous clutter. And after a while, all those things became "normal", a part of nice little domestic life with its own beloved patterns and quirks, like Svetlana's puffy eggs, Nika's ironing habits, the mess in his and Mickey's bedroom. Ian didn't realise how much he got attached to these things, until he was back at the Gallagher's house. But as long as he still got to wake up next to Mickey every morning, he didn't feel like he had any grounds to complain. 

And that pretty much the only thing that matters to Ian for the first couple of days after he gets out of the hospital. He doesn't know why on Tuesday morning he wakes up and can gather enough mental alertness to notice his surroundings and realise that Milkovich house he knew and loved has changed. He first sees it in the bathroom while he's brushing his teeth - the cracked mirror has been replaced with a new one. Ian stares at it for minute, touches the previously chipped corner. His fingers are shaking slightly - the new meds have serious tremor after effects. Or maybe it's because of this strange sense of loss that overwhelms him in the moment. Slowly Ian wanders back to the bedroom (his and Mickey bedroom, he tells himself, though it doesn't feel like that yet). It looks almost bare, he realises, with most of Mickey's things gone from the shelves. Ian's stuff is long gone too, of course, safe for a single backpack sitting in the corner; he hasn't bothered to unpack, just grabbed the stuff out when he needed it or borrowed things from Mickey. He swallows against the weird feeling in his chest and goes on to explore further.

It's quiet, save for light noises coming from the kitchen where Mickey is putting a late breakfast together.

The walls in the living room have been freshly painted; some of the furniture moved around, the TV is new. The surfaces that used to be covered with some old shit, Yevgeny’s clothes, their truck scheme posters are now mostly empty. There are a couple of toddler toys in a basket in a corner, though and Ian feels a pang of guilt. Svetlana’s clearly been bringing Yevy around since Mick's return; maybe even before that if she trusted Iggy to babysit. He's sure she won't be doing it for a while though, because of him - wouldn't trust him around her son, not that he can blame her. He turns around and smiles a little when he sees the familiar door with "Fuck off" written across it, but when he pushes it open, he realises that Mickey's old bedroom has been turned into a storage: all the furniture is gone and it's filled with boxes.

He stands frozen on the spot, feeling strangely devastated. It's just a fucking room, but it's also so much more; so many memories of sneaking here for a quickie; of staring at it longingly whenever he visited and realised Mickey wasn't at home. How much time has passed? How much did he miss? How much did he try to forget this time...?

"Hey, you want cheese or ham?" Mickey shouts from the kitchen and Ian jumps. He's been so engulfed in his own thoughts that Mickey's voice shocks him, it's so real and close. He turns away from the abandoned room and walks to the kitchen. It's also been re-painted and cleaned out, he notices in the back of his mind, but his thoughts refuse to linger on the fact. Instead all his senses focus on the man who stands near the stove with his back to Ian. He's wearing worn out sweatpants and a tank top that reveals the move of his muscles as he chops something on the board. He's beautiful. And he is _here_ , in this house _with_ Ian. 

"Firecrotch, did you hear...?" Mickey starts turning around, but doesn't get the chance, because Ian crosses the space separating them from each other in three strides and plasters himself against his lover’s back. 

"Woa! Warning much, tough guy?" Mickey grumbles, but his head is already falling to the side, allowing Ian to bury his face in his lover’s neck.

Ian takes several deep breaths and starts mouthing at the soft tan skin. Mickey's sharp gasp and the sound of the knife being dropped soothe his frazzled nerves.

"I love you" He whispers against Mickey's skin "So fucking much. I missed you so much." Mickey leans against the counter, his arms spreading apart to support his weight. Ian's own hands follow his movements until his palms are resting on top of Mickey’s and their fingers interlock. Ian's always loved this position, not only because it was a sole gesture of intimacy that Mickey allowed in their early relationship, but also because it gave him an illusion of locking Mickey in his embrace. He attacks his lover’s neck with new vigour.

Mickey is here with him, and Ian isn't going to let it change, _never-ever_ again. 

"You gonna keep me here, tough guy?" Mickey asks breathlessly. 

"Can I?" Ian almost whines "Can you let me, Mick?" 

Instead of replying Mickey presses hard against him and cranes his head back so he can capture Ian's mouth in a hungry kiss. Ian allows one of his hands to fall down, to palm Mickey's hard cock through the fabric of his sweatpants. Mickey whines and his back at he's, head falling back, hips pressing against Ian's own erection. 

"Fuck!" Ian whispers, forehead pressing against his lover’s spine. One handed he quickly pushes Mickey's sweatpants down his hips, does the same with his own. Mickey urgently shoves the board with ham and cheese on the side and falls onto the hard surface of the counter, Ian's chest blanketing his back.

They made love for the first time since Ian left the hospital last night, celebrating clean bill of health for both of them. But this is different, this is pure fucking, animal hunger consuming them. In moments like that Ian knows that Mickey doesn't mind him being rough, so after quickly checking that his lover is still a bit loose from their previous session, Ian slowly and steadily pushes into him.

"Fuck!" They both moan at the same time. It burns, in the best way, and Mickey presses back against him. 

“Fucking move” the ex-com hisses furiously and, had it been several years ago, Ian might have considered teasing him, drawing it out for long minutes until Mick stops trying to be bossy and outright begs. But not here, not now. The hunger is still too strong, the reality too feeble in his mind to be able to hold out like that. He starts moving urgently, uncoordinated as his hand works Mickeys cock and his lips map the planes of his back. Mickey is clenching around him in the most delicious way. Ian knows that he’s going to come fast and for once he doesn’t care - not as long as he can bring Mickey with him.

He feels the build up of his orgasm deep in his stomach and speeds up, his movements completely chaotic, desperate sounds - both his and Mickey’s - resonating from kitchen walls. 

“Fuck!” Mickey moans and comes; pushing against Ian in the last minute, taking him over as well.  

For what feels like eternity it seems like the entire world narrows down to this room, with nothing existing but the sound of two young men breathing. 

“Gallagher!” Mickey hisses and shoves him with his elbow lightly “Let me fucking breathe”

Reluctantly, Ian lifts off his lover and slips from him. His legs feel like they are made from rubber and his head’s almost dizzy, but the horrible feeling of loss from before is gone. 

Mickey pulls up his pants and turns around to look at him; his eyes still dark with passion as he passes Ian a paper towel to clean up. 

“Not that I mind the gesture, firecrotch” He says with a leisurely half smirk. They are still mere inches from each other, both leaning against the counter “But what brought that on?” 

Ian shrugs, unable to explain the complex mix of feelings in his head.

“I was just thinking about living here” He accepts a cigarette from Mickey “I missed it” 

“What? Did you miss crying babies, shouting Russians, my idiot brothers?” Mickey’s brow arches in confusion

“I missed it” Ian insists stubbornly, not knowing how to communicate it to Mickey; how much he missed the togetherness, intimacy of being together. But there must be something in his eyes because Mickey stops and stares at him with such tender longing Ian is sure that if he wasn’t a weak mess right now they would have immediately gone for a second round. 

“Well” Mickey lifts an eyebrow “I see one benefit of the current set up. We can fuck on any surface in the fucking house we want”

 

***

Mickey can't say he's surprised to see Lip. It's early afternoon and technically they are still close, but the doors are never truly locked and Mickey is already behind the counter swiping the surface.

Lip stands in the doorway for a while clearly waiting to be acknowledged, but he's not going to grant the fucker the satisfaction. 

“I thought you weren't supposed to step in the fucking bar on your fucking program” he says finally

“Not here to drink” ‘Lip answers approaching the counter 

“No shit” he checks the taps making sure the kegs are full. Svetlana hates changing them herself and he doesn't want her to run out in the middle of the evening; he’ll never here the end of it. Lip hops on the barstool right across from him, his hands twitching on the counter

“How's Ian?” he asks

 

***

Ian’s... Ian's ok...  Mickey is almost afraid to say it out loud. The last several days have been calm, structured, surprisingly pleasant. Ian's still sleeping a lot, tires easily and doesn't eat anywhere as much as he should; he spaces out occasionally, reality slipping away for a moment until Mickey manages to bring him back with a touch of his hand, a squeeze of the elbow. He can see doubts and shame and negativity overwhelm Ian after these moments. Some nights are good and easy, others are more difficult where it takes Ian hours to fall asleep and he wakes frequently, disturbed by dreams and wild images. 

The redhead has been experiencing heavy shakes in the mornings and evenings as well, to the point where he can barely hold his toothbrush and needs to hold his coffee with two hands. It hits him hard, what he perceives as disability and Mickey knows that his thoughts are occupied with his future, with what he’s going to do, especially as he watches Mickey crunch the numbers for the Alibi in the mornings. 

The shakes also mean that Ian can't shave properly and he spends Wednesday irritable, scratching his face. He tries again next morning, manages to cut himself a couple of times before Mickey can't take it anymore:

”Holy shit, give me this thing and let me do it for you before you cut your own throat” it's probably an insensitive  thing to say to someone in a semi-depressed state, and he fully expects Ian to snap at him for being overbearing but instead the redhead just hands the razor over. It's awkward at first and Mickey grumbles a lot about "tall shitheads" and "fucking tiny bathrooms". But in the end they find a comfortable position with Ian sitting on the edge of the bath and Mickey standing and there is something about Ian's relaxed face and closed eyes as he carefully slides the blade across his cheeks, something so trusting and sensual, that it makes it difficult for Mickey to keep his own hands steady. 

When he's finished Ian opens his impossibly beautiful eyes and wordlessly drops to his knees in front of Mickey. His hands are still trembling as he struggles with Micks zipper, but his mouth is warm and steady and eager.

There are other good moments too, when Ian can relax and enjoy himself a little. In the early afternoons, when Ian's having a nap Mickey heads out to Alibi to help Lana out. First time he did it he's pleasantly surprised to see Ian come in the bar several hours later, slightly out of breath from a brisk walk. It's still early, with few customers around and Mickey and Lana just pottering around the place mostly. Ian hangs around as they go around their business, helps with tables occasionally and mostly plays with Yevgeny. At first Lana shoots him death glares and Mickey worries about Ian taking it badly. Lana told him about the conversation they had with Ian, how devastated the redhead was.  But Ian seems if not fine with, then resigned to Svetlana’s attitude as long as she lets him be with the kid. Around 9 pm, Svetlana puts Yevy to sleep and takes over the bar. They leave the place before it gets really crowded and though Ian's more or less falls into the bed once they reach home, he looks content. Next day he shows up again.

 

***

So yeah, he thinks Ian's ok, but he's not stupid enough to believe this peaceful situation will continue without any crisis or storm. 

“He's fine” He gives Lip together with a glare “You would have known if you reached out or stopped by or whatever”

Lip looks genuinely contrite at this, but Mickeys had had it with the rest of fucking Gallaghers already. The one he has is more than a handful.

”Wasn't sure I would be welcome” Lip says and Mickey snorts because, yeah.

”Look, I'm sorry” Lip doesn't sound sorry, he sounds like an arrogant piece of shit he always is, but a spare glance tells him the eldest Gallagher might be genuine for once

”The fuck I need your apologies for?” he puts a stress on I because while he honestly doesn't give a damn, Ian might.

”I know I asked for your help finding him” Lip continues” and I know this is what you did. You saved him, you helped him, you are taking care of him now”

”Then why the fuck are you back to treating me as if I'm driving Ian to his death?” Lip has the decency to look forlorn even now Mickey has to curb a desire to whack him on the head

”I know you love him” Lip says “and I know you'll take care of him. But I'm so fucking worried I'm going to lose my brother”

And he's near tears suddenly, so suddenly in fact that Mickey thinks he might be under influence. He debates for a second and then goes for fucking honesty. 

“You continue to treat him like Monica reincarnated and you are going to lose him really quick”

”I'm trying... “ Lip swallows “I'm trying not to... but with him refusing to go to hospital... I can't help to think about it…”

” Oh, go fuck yourself” Mickey bursts “this is not about the crazy house! You think it's a fucking cure?! That if your fucking mother went to a hospital you all would have had charming lives? I don't know what was the deal with fucking Monica, but from what I heard she was a heartless cunt who didn't give a fuck about her family except in rare moments of lucidity and was never sorry for anything. And that has nothing to do with Ian”

”You honestly don't see the parallels?” Lips challenging him now “like how Ian run away from his family, twice? Or how he cheated on you even though he loved you?”

”You fucking piece of shit!” Mickey throws his towel down and walks around the bar “ _That's_ what you remember?”

He walks closer to Lip and the eldest Gallagher turns towards him warily now, his South Side roots expecting Milcovich to throw a punch.

”How about the fact that he always got a reason for leaving? How about the fact that he came back every time and not after a couple of years. That he's taking his meds, follows routine? Got himself a career, a chance at something better? How about the fact that he never stopped caring about your asses, hm…?”

Lip stays silent during his tirade. 

“You” Mickey points at Lips chest “need to start fucking hearing what Ian says, otherwise, you are going to lose him in your search for Monica. And I don't give a fuck about the bunch of you, but that would mean that Ian loses you too. And God help me, I will do it all alone, but it would be fucking nice if there was someone else he can reach out to”

They are both silent for what feels like eternity afterwards until finally Lip says.

”That's fair...” He nods “That’s  fair...also what the fuck have you done with Mickey Milkovich” He grins at the end of the statement just a little and Mickey throws his hands in the air

“Or shut up, fucker!” He goes back behind the bar

”He’s at home?” Lip is back to serious quickly 

Normally, around now would be the time for Ian to join him at the Alibi but Mickey knows it's not going to happen today. Ian had a session with Dr Foster this morning, one that left him anxious and drained. It's also Friday night and with the bar filling much quicker it's probably a good idea for Ian to stay at home. So, he nods affirmative at Li’s question

”Think he'll mind me dropping by?

”The fuck should I know? I'm not his keeper!” 

The response almost reflexive and not even true - Lip knows that Mickey is the only keeper Ian has.

 

***

It's strange to see Milkovich house so quiet and organized, where previously it had been full of cousins, whores, etc. However, the door is still left unlocked and Lip easily lets himself in. 

He expects to find Ian in the bedroom, but in fact he's on the couch, slightly small for his height so he has to tuck himself in like a child. He's using a quilt as a blanket and he's deeply asleep. 

Lip just stands and stares at him for a long moment, noticing how thin Ian is, how pale, how his face is scrunched in light grimace in his sleep. He suddenly finds himself on the verge of crying; remembers the character witness Ian gave for him last year, remembers the story he had told. He had always considered Ian to be his best friend and yet he had majorly failed him recently. He asked about how he was without listening for a response, accepted ok's and fine's as if they were normal, listened to the stories about his love life and gave advice without ever actually questioning whether Ian was happy.

Too focused on himself, his lost opportunities, his fucked-up life... He was so obsessed with failing himself that he failed his brother.

Lip makes his way to one of the chairs across from the sofa, intending to be quiet and let Ian sleep some more. There is no sound in the room, except that of Ian's breathing, the light coming from the window slowly disappears and it's surprisingly peaceful.

Lip feels as if he could stay here forever.

 

***

Ian wakes up slowly, drowsy from the pills and still spotting a slight headache. For a second he stares at ceiling disoriented about where he is. There is a presence next to him and when he turns his head he's surprised to see Lip sitting on a chair just an arm length away. 

“Hey, man” His brother says quietly

Ian nods back and tries to collect himself. There is something in Lip’s face, though, something sorrowful, that makes him shot up into the sitting position in panic.

”What's wrong? What are you doing here?” 

His imaginations starts painting horrid pictures of car accidents, overdoses and other shit like that; Carl shot by drug dealers, Mickeys bloodied corpse at the border. His heart jumps straight into his throat, pulse skyrockets.

”No, no, no, man! Everything's fine!” Lip throws his arms up, probably trying to reassure him, but it looks as if he's just protecting himself from onslaught of Ian's emotions; he immediately feels guilty “I just wanted to see you, man, and Mickey said you should be at home”

”Sorry, man. I'm just... - " _really crazy_ " supplies his mind unhelpfully “disoriented, probably slept a bit too long”

”Course! Sorry didn't mean to scare you” Lip nods and makes to rise off his chair “You want anything? A glass of water?”

”Yeah...” Ian pauses “yeah, would be great”

His heart is still beating too fast, thoughts a bit panicky, so while Lip’s grabbing water, he fishes for his phone. There is a single message from Mickey, from about half an hour ago.

_”Lip’s heading your way. Will need to stay to help Lana for a couple of hours, ok?"_

Immediately feeling calmer that Mickey is clearly safe, Ian types a quick reply and finally stretches into a full seating position. It's a comfortable couch even if it’s a little short for him, and it makes him feel better to be out here than in the bedroom. 

Lip comes back with two glasses of water and perches on the couch next to him. Ian's pleased that his hands feel steadier this evening, though he still needs to hold the glass with both hands. Lip’s staring at him with the same expression Ian can't exactly figure out. 

“Ugh... Mickey said you were doing all right” His brother says finally when Ian puts his glass away. The redhead nods

”Take my pills, track my moods” The response is almost automatic, a reassurance, a 'you don't have to think about me' allowance. He doesn't volunteer any more information. Typically, it works well with Fiona, Lip and Debbie. But now Lip looks at him almost sad. 

“So, Mickey seems really involved in Alibi, hmm?” He smirks a little and Ian can't help but fell a bit slighted. He knows what his family thinks of Mickey, Fiona's "he'll set a match to what you built" still ringing in his head occasionally, making him feel resentful. He knows it's a misplaced guilt, even talked to his therapist about it today a little. But it makes him want to be extra protective now.

”He invested in it, bought out half of the share so that Svetlana could continue working on it. He does the books - always been good with the math”

”Yeah... makes sense, man. I mean it's a good thing, seeing him busy with something! Didn't mean anything by that”

Ian nods; he might have overreacted, but he can't help compensating for the all the times he’s not stood up for Mickey in the past. He also can't help thinking about how much of Mickey’s time he's taking nowadays, time he could have spent working in Alibi, instead or pursuing other interests. For a moment he and Lip sit silent, both clearly occupied by their thoughts 

“Fuck it” Lip murmurs suddenly and turns to face Ian fully “We talked today, actually, Mickey and I. He really ripped into me for treating you like Monica” 

Ian freezes for a second unsure of what to say, he's tempted to play it off lightly, to debunk these thoughts, but it seems that Lip isn't going to let him do it

”And he's right” He continues “ absolutely fucking right! We... I've been treating you like Monica; never listened to what you were saying...and that's not fair... so I'm sorry...”

He looks so earnest, so intense, like that day so many years ago when they sat in the old van and Ian opened up about his deepest secret. Right on cue Lip continues “I use to be proud that I had never let you down. But I did, I do... and that's ... I'm fucking sorry for that”

”I…” Ian pauses, swallows, tries again “I understand... I mean, I would have probably been the same...”

“Sometimes, I'm scared I'm like her as well” he admits and it feels good “but I don't want to be” he looks Lip in the eyes “I really-really don't want to be. Because one time I tried to follow her fucked-up view of the world, it really messed me up”

”But sometimes... “ He has to look away “Sometimes it feels like it doesn't matter what I do... the moment this fucking disease rears its head in your eyes I'm back to being Monica... and it doesn't matter what I say or what I want...” And now there is bit of anger that makes it through the haze in his head “You just don't fucking listen!”

He swallows through the bitterness that rises in his throat.

“And I guess at some point I stopped trying to talk to you”

Lip nods, his face sad, but strangely accepting. 

“Is it why you didn’t come home?” He asks quietly and explains “When the mania passed. The last time it happened you came back, but this time you...”

“Went to live in the streets” Ian finishes for him “It’s true, that’s what I did. Don’t... don’t sugarcoat it”

“I didn’t come back on my own last time either. Mick brought me home, remember?”

Lip looks away

“So, it was because of us” He asks “Mickey wasn’t here to pull you back and we made you feel like you couldn’t come home?”

Ian pauses for a minute, trying to gather his thoughts and emotions, trying to explain.

“It’s not... It’s not as simple” He shrugs “It wasn’t a rational choice, man. I didn’t feel anything, couldn’t think” He says and then forces himself to continue “But part of it also was that I... I used to think of home as safe, you know? I used to love our house and our life, no matter how fucked-up it was. But I guess as some point it changed….

“I love you guys, so much” He whispers “But when I crashed… when I was miserable and hated my life and myself – when I just wanted to hide somewhere safe. I… I didn’t think of home. I did not feel that way about home.”

The admission hangs between them and then Lip repeats, quietly but firmly.

“I’m sorry, Ian. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry we… I didn’t listen” 

”If I promise to listen now, to be better at this do you think we would be able to start again?”

Ian swallows down a laughter that threatens to rise in his throat, even though there is nothing in particular funny about the situation. He's trying to remember when was the last time he was honest with Lip about his secrets, his feelings and felt like his brother really listened to him. Probably, at the time when he was dismissed from work and got scared about his meds not working properly. That was... a long time ago... and half of the things that happened since then have long became irrelevant so... what's the point? But it would be cruel to say it to Lip, cruel and pointless, and in the end of the day it’s as much Ian’s fault. So instead he goes with a simpler answer:

”We could try”

 

*** 

He spends an evening with Lip, watching a game. They share half a pack of cigarettes in the process and it feels nice, feels normal. Lip talks a bit about his new trimester, about a robotic lab he’s working in; they laugh and joke about some of the antiques his friends throw. He doesn't comment when Ian goes into the bathroom to take his meds. About an hour in, Mickey sends a message apologising (in his own manner) for being potentially late - it's a busy night and they are understaffed.  Ian tells him to take his time and lets him know he had taken his pills. It's the first time since he left the hospital they are spending more than half an hour of waking time apart, but that feels nice too, the fact that he can let Mickey have his own life a little bit. And while hanging out together, isn’t a guarantee that things with Lip will get back to how they were, but it feels like a change.. 

By the time Mickey gets home, Lip’s just about to leave. Mickey pretends to be surprised to still see the elder Gallagher but his customary _"the fuck are you still doing here?"_ sounds only slightly annoyed. 

It's after 10 and Ian's ready to crash hard, but he struggles through his evening routine a little and more or less falls into the bed while Mickey takes a quick shower. Afterwards he crawls under the covers, clad only in boxers, his skin wonderfully warm against Ian's own as the redhead turns and wraps around him. When Ian speaks he presses even closer and turns his head:

”What's that, Mumbles?”

”I think I'll stop by the house tomorrow, check on the rest of the Gallaghers” Ian lifts his face from Mick’s neck so that he can actually hear him.

“Hmm” Mickey murmurs in response “Let me know if you want me to tag along”

They both fall asleep immediately. 

 

***

Walking to the old Gallagher house feels strange and for a moment Ian wishes he  _did_  ask Mickey to tag along. But he knows there is a delivery due to the Alibi this morning, and he doesn’t want to monopolise every free second of Mick’s time. 

He climbs the familiar stairs - last time he did it was back in December, in the middle of the night, after his visit to Svetlana. Just as back then, the three steps already leave him breathless and he curses that thing, his body now, weak and uncooperative. 

Fiona and Debbie are both in the kitchen and the moment they see him they rush over to envelope him in a hug. 

“Oh my God, Ian!” Fiona pushes away to look at his face “I’m so happy to see you! How have you been?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but doesn’t get a chance.

“Ian!!!” A small figure rushes through the living room towards him and before he can take a breath, Ian catapults himself into his arms. 

“Hey buddy” The redhead murmurs as he clutches the little boy close headless of the ache in his ribs and arm “I missed you”

He presses a kiss to curly head and breathes in his little brother’s scent. For a moment, he’s overwhelmed with such a sense of nostalgia. Him, his siblings, this kitchen - endless conversations and struggles, laughter. 

Finally, Liam lets him go and Ian turns to his sisters. Debbie’s holding Franny in her arms and Ian can’t believe how big she looks already. 

“Hey Ian!” Debbie gives him a brief one armed “God, we were worried sick!” 

“I’m sorry, Debs” He touches his sister shoulder and gently palms Franny’s head “I didn’t mean to scare anyone”

“Did you stop taking your meds?” She asks bluntly

“Debs!” Fiona hisses as if the mention of what happened is going to send Ian flying into rage or anxiety. 

“No...” Ian shakes his head “I mean I did, but not until I was too far gone”

They talk about it a lot with Dr Foster, the fact that maybe what happened wasn’t his fault, not fully; that his meds can fail. 

“Oh” Debbie shrugs like she doesn’t quite believe him “Well, I’m glad you are better now” 

“None of it matters” Fiona drags him to the table “Tell me how you are doing? How’s the new meds? Are you eating enough?”

Ian sits down at the table, Liam pressing into his side like a little monkey, and tells her about his progress. Fiona’s listening full of attention, her large deer eyes tenderly tracking his face. 

“You sure, you don’t want to move back home?” She asks hopefully and looks crestfallen when he shakes his head. He doesn’t offer any explanation.

“Tell me what I’ve missed?” Ian asks and turns to Liam; hoping it will get the conversation away from himself. 

Nothing much, seems to be the answer. Liam is enjoying school, Debbie spends her time helping Veronica at the salon and doing gigs. Franny’s been healthy and happy. Fiona’s busy at Patsies. Frank’s fucked off somewhere three weeks ago and is yet to be found. 

Compared to his last episode when it felt like the entire world turned on its axes while he was gone, now it feels like time in Chicago just froze during his absence. 

“So, you and Mick” Fiona pauses looking for a right word “You are back together?” 

“Yes” Ian says and meets Fiona’s gaze openly “Yes, we are” 

Saying it out loud... it does something to Ian. And, it’s not like he and Mick even discussed it properly, but then... for the first time ever Ian kind of doesn’t feel the need to have any validation of their relationship. 

They stay together and fight for each other. 

“Ok” Fiona smiles in that bright, everything’s perfect with the world way “But you can always come home, you know? Whatever it is.”

“I know” Ian nods his arm around Liam’s shoulders “I actually wanted to ask you something. Do you have any extra work at Patsies? Like a dishwasher or something like that? I wanted to pick up a couple of shifts”

“Sure!” Fiona jumps on the opportunity to help “We always need extra hands! But if you need money for the meds or ...”

“I don’t” Ian reassures her softly “I just can’t sit around doing nothing” 

It’s not exactly truth - while Mickey’s been adamant that they are all right on cash, Ian is just as adamant on not munching off him if he can help it. A couple of shifts at Patsies are not going to be much, but they are better than nothing.

“Ok” Fiona nods “Let’s start with a couple of half-shifts a week, yeah? And then we’ll see” Ian’s smiles gratefully “But Ian what about the EMT? Aren’t you going to…?” 

Ian shrugs; that’s not something that he’s ready to think about. 

“Ian, you can’t allow one bad episode to ruin everything that...” Her face takes on the same serious expression as when she tried to convince Lip to go back to school.

“Fiona, please...” He almost begs. He’s not ready

“Let him go, Fiona!” Debbie barks “Not everybody wants to match your high expectations”

Ian’s stupidly grateful for the intervention, even though he knows it’s not about him, but rather about some silent feud between his sisters.

“Hey, Mickey says you had my things?” He uses an opportunity to change the topic.

Fiona shows him to the basement and Liam eagerly agrees to help him pack. But once downstairs Ian feels like somebody drained him of energy. The gloomy room, the haphazardly packed boxes, things that barely feel like his own. His brain threatens to just switch off and he tiredly sits on the stairs.

“You ok?” Liam asks him curiously and Ian tightens his fists to keep them from trembling.

“Yeah” he forces a smile on his face “Yeah, bud, just don’t know where to start”

“You can always come back to pick up more” Liam suggests hopefully and his calm practicality makes Ian laugh. He presses another kiss to his forehead. 

In the end he packs some clothes, a couple of sport journals and some equipment, the latter more wistful thinking than reality - he’s nowhere near ready to start training again. 

The stuff fits in a medium size box and Ian stubbornly lifts it to the ground floor himself. 

Then he calls Mickey to come and pick him up. 

 

***

That evening, after a late lunch and a nap, Ian carefully unpacks the box and his backpack; takes up the ownership of two shelves in the wardrobe, puts his cheap NutriBullet wannabe on the kitchen counter, drops his sneakers by the door. Mickey observes his pottering around with a sarcastically raised eyebrow, but his blue eyes sparkle with quiet happiness. 

“Yo, Mary Poppins” He calls him quietly when Ian freezes in the middle of the living room “If you finished nesting, come sit with me” 

Ian drops down on the sofa - it’s new too, he notices belatedly, that’s why it’s so fucking comfortable. He lowers his head on Mickey’s thighs.

“I’m not a fucking pillow, Gallagher” the ex-con grumbles, but his hand automatically finding its way into Ian’s hair. 

Warmth spreads in Ian’s heart and he feels the smile spread on his face; he asks one of his favourite question these days.

“Tell me something. About Mexico”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter (and the previous) chapter tenderly despite the fact that very little happens here :)
> 
> 1) I am not sure I made a good job of translating my idea of Ian's mood in this chapter onto paper, probably because it's not well defined in my own head. I just had this picture of Ian re-discovering Milkovich house, re-defining his life with Mickey, accepting the reality. They have had so much drama (and have big issues to tackle still), but I wanted this chapter to be about small things that are yet so important. Let me know if it made any sense :)
> 
> 2) Lip... I'm one of the people who loves Lip even when I hate him, probably because (not dissimilar to Mickey) he's such a real character. And I absolutely adore his S1-2 relationship with Ian - they sometimes treated each other unfairly, but they always were in each other's corner. Hence this scene between them and a tiny intercept of Lip's thoughts.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a minute it feels good, the quiet of the bathroom, tiles cold against his face. But regret catches up with Ian quickly - he shouted at Mickey when all he was showing was unobtrusive care. He doesn’t know where this anger comes from, vile, unreasonable.

_Chicago, early-March_

 

***

 

On Monday, Ian’s doctor tweaks his meds to try and reduce the side effects. 

Two days later Mickey wakes up to the sound of Ian retching in the bathroom. It's early, maybe 5 am and Mickey wouldn’t be able to say what wakes him up, the quiet sounds or the absence of Ian by his side. But either way he's suddenly thrown into consciousness with realising something's wrong. 

He finds his boyfriend in the bathroom, sitting by the toilet, white as a sheet. 

“The meds” Ian murmurs when he sees him “Intoxication. It happens. Go back to sleep”

”Without your ass taking up all the space? I'll get fucking lost there!” He kneels next to Ian and touches his forehead gently. Suddenly the redhead hurls forward, another retch overwhelming him. He clutches the toilet bowl tightly and just lets it ride. Mickey draws circles on his back.

”Wow, that’s worse than that time Svetlana fed you the entire vodka bottle, tough guy” He goes for a joke when Ian's finally done, not expecting any reaction. He doesn't get any either, Ian just leans back against the wall, eyes closed. He accepts a glass of water, manages to rinse his mouth and take a couple of slow sips. 

“Seriously, Mick” he says” I'll probably be here awhile. You should...

”Yeah, yeah, bitch, just shut up” Mickey grumbles affectionately and kisses him on the head before fetching a wet cloth to cool his forehead.

It does take a while. Ian is overcome with bouts of sickness every 20-30 minutes, each one leaving him paler and clammier. A couple of times it feels like the nausea passed and Ian attempts to leave the bathroom but inevitably is forced back every time. In the end he's too exhausted to care and just half lays on the cold tiles. 

“Firecrotch, come on” Mickey tags at his shoulder gently “Let’s get you to bed, I'll bring you a bowl or something if you need to go again. You need to fucking lie down”

But Ian - stubborn as a mule - shakes his head, not letting go of the toilet.

”Ian” Mickey insists. Suddenly anger burns in Ian’s eyes and he shakes Mickey’s hand of violently.

”Leave me the fuck alone! ” He shouts and Mickey sighs. Not that he doesn’t get it - nobody enjoys throwing their guts out, particularly when it reminds them of their useless father - but it still pains him to get up and leave Ian.

 

***

For a minute it feels good, the quiet of the bathroom, tiles cold against his face. But regret catches up with Ian quickly - he shouted at Mickey when all he was showing was unobtrusive care. He doesn’t know where this anger comes from, vile, unreasonable. 

And fear follows shortly by, of pushing Mick too far, of finally being too much. His senses become more attuned to the sounds outside, waiting for the tell-tale slamming of the front door. But there is only a familiar sound of pottering from the kitchen and footsteps around the house. 

Ten minutes later Mickey comes back with a bundle of blankets, a couple of pillows and several bottles of lemony water. Calmly and without comment he makes a comfortable nest around Ian before sitting down opposite to him and handing over the water. 

“Happened to you before?” He asks peacefully. His hand inches towards Ian's ankle stopping before the contact. Gratefully, Ian moves his limb until they are touching. Mickey starts drawing little circles, just enough contact to connect, but not enough to overwhelm Ian. 

“Last time...” Ian murmurs “After you ...” He leaves the rest unsaid “It took the doctors some time to find a combo without many side effects. I puked my guts out for almost 2 days”

He remembers sitting in the downstairs bathroom at the Gallagher's house for those two days, chosen that way so that he doesn't have to his siblings going through their lives outside, Fiona's fighting with Debbie, bickering for power with Lip, Carl chatting with his girlfriend non-stop, Liam loud play. Most of the time they didn't realise that he was there at all, except to drop by with food he couldn't eat and the pills he couldn't hold down. The loneliness of that time, the despair, the longing, it comes back to him painfully and this is probably why the next question out of Mick’s mouth hits him so hard:

”Anything that would help you feel better?” Almost without realising Ian stretches his hand towards Mickey, who catches it immediately and squeezes tightly. 

“You make me feel better” He says and means it and hopes it is enough.

”Fucking gay, Gallagher. You are such a fucking gay” Mickey pretends to be annoyed, but drops his head down and presses a kiss on Ian's palm. 

“I meant more from a practical perspective, bitch, anything to make it pass quicker? Or hold you fucking food down?”

Ian shakes his head

”Just waited for it to pass last time around”

_Alone and broken and tired..._

“I had to miss my morning pills” He finally addresses an elephant in the room because it's clear that Mickey won't.

”Kind of figured it out” The ex-con nods “Should you even keep taking them at all if they are making you sick, no? What did the doctor said last time?

”Hmm...” Ian looks down “Kind of didn't tell her... she wasn't very... attentive. I just waited for it to pass and then went to the clinic and she changed my medication” 

”Jesus Christ, you...?” Mickey starts saying something and then stops “Or fuck it, who the cares what happened” 

He squeezes Ian's hand now though “We should call her now, though, ok? If we don't manage to get some food into you in the next couple of hours. You've been off the pills for too long and I don't know how it works if you miss some of your new medication”

Ian nods and asks plainly:

”Can you call her?” He doesn't think he has strength to even lift the phone let alone talk to anyone. 

He loses the next couple of hours. He vomits, drinks water, lies down on the blankets for short rests and tries not to let go of Mickey’s hand. The last one is selfish and makes him a bit ashamed of his neediness, but that’s one point that connects him with reality. 

“Ian, hey” Mickey shakes him a little bit “Wake up for a second, ok?”

“Hmm” He doesn't think he was asleep, but apparently, he was. Mickey tags him up into a seating position and Ian can't help but just lean against his shoulder. 

“You got to drink this, ok?” Mickey gives him a mug of something hot and smelling slightly of vegetables “Just very slowly” 

“Whatist?” Ian mumbles as he takes the mug. Mickey continues to hold onto it wisely not trusting Ian's grip

”It's a soup or bullion or some other weird shit. Drink!” Ian's not hungry, but he's thirsty so he obligingly sips on the warm liquid. It's quite salty and warm and slowly wakes him up. He tags at the mug and Mickey let's go, sitting down next Ian instead and drawing circles on his back. 

“You doctor said we should try it out” might be easier for you to drink something” he takes the now empty mug away “If you keep it down for half an hour, we could try the pills. Not lithium, the other two”

Ian nods and shivers, presses into Mickeys side.

“We’ll ween you from lithium for a couple of days and then go see her, ok?” 

“Kay... what time is it?”

”Just about 1 pm” 

He basically spent his day in the bathroom. 

“What about the Alibi...” he starts guiltily

”It can fucking do without me for a night! “ Mickey interrupts him and adds when he sees Ian's expression remain sad and guilty “Just shut up, bitch”

The kiss he presses to his forehead feels familiar and Ian knows they have been here before. He didn't listen to Mickey back then and he silently wows to do better now. So, he swallows his " _I'm sorr_ y", trusting that Mickey doesn't need it, trusting in his love, in his intentions. It's something they had been practicing a lot with Dr Foster. Going down to the bottom of the reasons he broke up with Mickey in the first place; to the fucked-up part of his brain that believed Monica. And what it comes down to is trust, trust in the fact that Mickey loves him just like he is; trust in the fact that when Mickey says he wants to be here, he means it. 

He's been working on it and it doesn't mean that guilt doesn't come, but it makes it easier to push it down, to allow Mickey to stay and help him. And this is what he does now, just leans against his lover and allows himself to feel safe. 

In half an hour it seems that Ian can hold the soup down so Mickey brings him the pills diluted in the water. It tastes disgusting and Ian has to fight nausea a couple of times, but he manages to hold the liquid down. 

 

***

After another half an hour Mickey gently coaxes him back to bed where Ian alternates between shivering from cold and feeling like he's burning up. He's exhausted, but can't quite fall asleep. He feels extra sensitive to the point where he can't bear a touch of anything -  the feeling of the fabric of his t-shirt, the weight of the blankets, even the touch of Mickeys hands.

He feels guilty about it, is afraid that Mickey will take it as a rebuttal when Ian shakes of his palms on his shoulder. But Mickey seems to get it, retreating, but keeping close by, so when the extra sensitivity passes and Ian reaches out blindly, it only takes him a couple of seconds to touch his hand. 

“I’m sorry” He says during one of the good moments and adds quickly when he sees a frown appearing on Mickey’s face “Not for now... For back when I was first diagnosed, for being such a bitch when all you were doing was trying to help me”

“Yeah, well, you’ve always been a stubborn moody bastard” Mickey smirks and then looks down

“And I didn’t know what I was doing” He shrugs “Here, you were trying to deal with all the shit that fell onto your head and I was being a fucking mother hen, like you didn’t have the entire family of them already” He takes a deep breath and looks away, bites his lip.

“I was just trying to, you know ... You were miserable and I could do fuck all to help. Would have given everything to make you feel better”

It’s one of the few times in their entire relationship when Mickey is almost babbling. And it breaks his heart that Mickey doesn’t know...

“You helped” He reaches out and squeezes his hand “Mickey, you did help, so much” He repeats forcefully when he sees Mick’s doubtful expression. 

“I didn’t see it then, but I know it now. Because I know how it was after, when you were not around... The way you took care of me... I don’t know where I would have been without you ” He admits finally “Probably would have never gone on my meds or would have jumped out of the window in one of my paranoid fit. You were so tender with me, so patient...”

“I thought this is what you needed” Mickey interrupts, a bit of resentment in his voice, though he tries carefully to hide it “You spent years pushing for me to treat you like a boyfriend, but when I finally came around, when I finally started showing that I give a shit, you behaved as if...” He swallows, bites his lip harder “As if I was doing something fucked-up by caring about you”

And that’s the thing he wants to make 100% sure Mickey understands. 

“It wasn’t you, Mick. Back then I resented everything, the bipolar, myself, my life, my family... you... And you were the only one always there, so I just took all my fucking anger and directed it at you”

Shame burns through him, but Mickey seems unperturbed by his honesty, just nods, accepting, like it all makes sense to him now. And that prompts Ian to be completely honest

“And I wanted you to treat me like a boyfriend... But I also... I also wanted to still  _feel_  like your boyfriend, someone you love, someone you want... not a patient that you need to care about”

“You are a fucking idiot” Mickey says, but with so much affection that Ian smiles. 

“I’ll try not to be in the future” Ian hopes that Mickey knows it’s a promise, not just words. 

“And I’ll try not to coddle you to death” Mickey shakes his head “Give you space if you need to”

“Maybe sometimes” Ian squeezes his arm and shuffles closer “But not too much”

 

***

“What was it like then?” Mickey asks some time later. They are both sitting on the windowsill, across from each other, a blanket around Ian’s shoulder, Mickey’s smoking in the tiny gap in the window. Ian’s head hurts, his body hurts, his eyes hurt. He can’t read, can’t listen to anything, is bored out of his mind and yet unable to go to sleep.

“Hmm?” He wonders

“After I went inside” Mickey elaborates “What was it like? When did you... go back to normal”

“Never” Ian shrugs, but he knows that’s not what Mickey means.

“Not for a long while” He looks outside the window; his mind going back to those days.

“At first, I just... existed, I guess. Everything was covered with a wet blanket, a fog. Nothing mattered. I wasn’t going anywhere...”

He can’t keep himself from shuddering, doesn’t want to, because surely Mickey’s had it worse. At least Ian was free and at home and looked after by people who loved him...

Mickey’s foot presses against his shin and the feeling helps him come back to himself. 

He tells him about working at Patsies, about Fiona’s and Sean’s tough live approach, quitting the diner. He tried to explain the feeling of being inadequate, listless, useless. 

“It’s strange, you know? It felt like I wasn’t  _there_ ” He presses his forehead against the cool glass “Fiona looked after me, of course, checked I was taking my meds, tried to convince Sean to let me stay. But everybody was so busy - Deb’s with her pregnancy, Carl with his gangsta lifestyle, which I didn’t even have mental capacity to recognize at that point. It felt like they were all living around me”  

He tells Mickey about going to Lip, working as a janitor at the dorms, their fight.

“Fucker!” Mickey mutters angrily and it takes Ian a minute to realize he’s pissed at his brother.

“Come on, Mick” he touches his knee “I was angry at the time, like even Lip didn’t have time and space for me, but ... he’d just got a tiny piece of his own life. Can you blame him for not wanting to give it up?”

“I can and I fucking will” Mickey shakes his head “He should have fucking helped you, not treat you like you were...”

“Like what? Like the way I treated you” Ian looks down for a second “Don’t do it. Don’t feel sorry for me, when I... I was a pretty unpleasant person to have around. And it was my own fault that I was on my own”

Mickey’s eyes darken for moment and he looks away, clearly remembering that he, too, was on his own at the time. 

Because of Ian. 

He hasn’t planned to go into that, here and now. And it’s hard, hard to talk about it, to remember how he behaved towards the person he loved most in the world. The last time Mickey asked him, he gave him a bullshit answer. And they’ve already started this conversation. 

“When I said it was hard...” He swallows, starts again “When I came to visit you...” his voice fails him again

“Fuck!” He whispers and squeezes his eyes.

“Ian” Mickey’s hand on his knee, not a free pass, an encouragement. His eyes soften again and look almost hopeful, like he would like to hear what Ian has to say.

The redhead takes a deep breath and tries to find the words.

“For weeks I felt absolutely nothing, like I was dead... couldn’t feel my body... my mind wasn’t my own; it was just blankness.  _Nothing_  mattered”

He doesn’t know how to explain it any better, what it feels like; living and not being alive.

“And then I came to see you” He swallows “Then Svetlana  _forced_  me to see you” He corrects because he doesn’t want Mickey to think that he’s trying to pretty the story up...

“I saw you and I felt something inside me... it was feeling, first feeling I had in months... I missed you and you looked at me...” He closes his eyes “You looked at me like I mattered, like you saw me, like I was there, like you wanted me to be there. It hurt...” He forces himself to look at Mickey and there is the same expression on his face now, warm, adoring, seeing.

“Feeling  _anything_  hurt and you were so close and yet on the other side of the glass... And I couldn’t do it, Mick. I couldn’t bear feeling and I couldn’t not feel around you” He blinks away the tears “Fucked up, right? You were the one thing I wanted and I couldn’t stand wanting”

Tentatively he reaches out to grab Mickeys hand resting on his knee. Mickey doesn’t pull away, allows him to intervene their fingers, squeezes right back. 

“When you asked me about waiting, I wasn’t lying on purpose” It’s important that Mick knows it “I just couldn’t... Tomorrow didn’t exist, Mick, not for me, not back than” 

Mickey lifts their intervened hands and gently presses a kiss to Ian’s palm. They don’t speak for a while and, even though Ian didn’t say it all for forgiveness, something inside him lets go a little bit.

“When did it change?” Mickey asks finally 

Ian tells him about leaving Lip’s college, feeling lost and alone; with nowhere to go, nothing to do. And then the crash and the first blink of lucidity in his mind; someone needing his help, moving on instinct.

“I don’t know what it was” he admits “Maybe, the meds finally started working properly. Or it was the adrenalin of almost dying... or I just felt better doing something...”

There is so much more that he needs to tell Mickey about; about what came next; about other ways Ian betrayed him. But all he can see is the bright light of the fire, so close to him he can almost feel the heat.

“Ian?” Mickey squeezes his hand

“It was so warm, Mickey, so fucking hot. I thought I will burn alive”

Suddenly Mickeys hands are on his face 

“Man, you are burning up!” 

“Hmm” He leans against the glass, it’s so pleasantly cool. 

“You have a fucking fever” He gets up “Come on, back to bed”

 

***

Mickey forces Ian to drink lots of hot lemony water and makes sure he’s bundled in a comfy blanket.

His poor guy must be exhausted - he needs to rest but only manages to get 15-20 minutes at a time before fever induced dreams push him awake. Mickey can guess at their nature by the way Ian desperately searches for him upon waking. 

Mickey stays by his side and thinks about their conversation. And, fuck, he can’t deny he is a bit relieved to finally hear Ian’s side of the story - not that it makes those months he spent alone and devastated any easier, but it helps to know what Ian was going through himself. It helps to know that it wasn’t that Mickey didn’t matter, but that Ian couldn’t deal with it. 

And, fuck! Not surprising given how difficult it must have been - adjusting to meds, trying to make a living, no one really at his side, no one really caring like they should have. Fucking Fiona, fucking Lip, fucking Gallaghers. Anger burns on him when he thinks about Ian being alone with this shit. 

And he should have known that it will be something like that, a fucking saviour act, that would push Ian to recovery. His hand gently brushes hair from Ian’s forehead. His guy - too brave for his own good.

A part of him, that fucking part that directs his fists to himself when he doesn’t have anyone else to hit, whispers. 

“ _You weren’t there! You weren’t there when he was struggling!”_

And fuck, it’s an irrational thought because that decision has been firmly taken out of his hands. and more importantly...

“ _Guilt makes you useless_ ” Jonathan said and Mickey still chooses to believe him when it comes to these things. 

“I’m here now” he thinks and gently strokes Ian’s hair “I got you”

 

***

By 8 pm Mickey grows nervous. Ian’s temperature continues to rise, he’s overcome with bouts of shivering, his skin feels clammy and he’s barely conscious. He really doesn’t want to take him to ER, not with the way his head is muddled and panic can overwhelm him any minute. But he knows fuck all about taking care of sick people - Milkovich motto has always been die or survive on your own. They must have been sick as kids occasionally, but he probably repressed those memories for they couldn’t have been pretty.

He fishes out his phone to call Fiona - Gallaghers are bound to be better at this - when a better idea springs to his mind. 

 

***

“Thank you for fucking letting me know he’s back home safe and sound” Sue grumbles as he pushes past him, a large bag over her shoulder.

“I was a little fucking busy” Mickey grumbles back, but she’s not listening, just breezes straight to the bedroom. There must be some 6th sense developed in the EMT that guides them in other people’s places. 

“Oh, kid” Sue’s voice is full of fondness when she gently presses the back of her hand to Ian’s forehead “What am I going to do with you?”

She takes out a thermometer and that strange contraption for measuring blood pressure.

“When did the fever start? Any other symptoms?” Mickey tells her everything including Ian’s accident in Omaha

“And he hasn’t vomited since early afternoon?” 

“No, the doctor said it should all stop if he doesn’t take any more lithium and it did. She was fucking clueless about the fever”

“It might not be connected.” Sue checks Ian’s temperature “Shit! 103...” She turns around “And his blood pressure is elevated”

“What does it mean?” Mickey bites his lip

“I am not a doctor” Sue frowns “Help me wake him up. Ian!” She starts hitting him on his cheeks lightly “Wake up, bastard, just for a second, ok?”

Slowly, they manage to get Ian to the state of semi-lucidity.

“Mickey?” Ian whispers quietly, clearly disoriented

“Pff! Someone’s with much better hair, believe me! Stay with me for a second, kid, ok? Does your stomach hurt? Your head?” 

Ian shakes his head and after more probing Sue let’s him go back to sleep.

 “I think it might just be a virus. He’s thin, malnourished, his immune system might be shot to death. It’s a flu season so if he’s been mixing with a lot of people...”

“He’s been doing dishes at Patsies for the last week - half a shift every other day. And he hangs out at the Alibi”

“Great! Two perfect places to catch some seasonal shit!” She is attentive enough to see him wince guiltily “It’s not like you can keep him locked away. It’s normal” 

“So, what do we do?” Mickey bites his lip harder.

“Look if there are no other symptoms and the fever doesn’t persist for more than a few days, there is no need to get him to the hospital. But we need to bring it down ASAP” Sue jumps up and shrugs off her bulky EMT coat “Grab towels, lots of them. Get them wet with cold water - not a sprinkle, soak them. Bring everything you have in the freezer as well. And plenty of fluids, he’ll need them”

“We’ll get you back on your feet, sugar” She gently pets Ian in the forehead. 

 

***

It takes them more than an hour to bring Ian’s temperature down. Sue and him relentlessly change cold compresses on his face and chest, make him swallow a Tylenol and drink as much water as they can force him to.

Mickey’s heart clenches every time he puts an ice-cold towel on Ian’s feverish skin, sees him shivering and try to pull away.

“Are you sure he needs it?” He asks Sue “It’s fucking cold”

“You want him to have to go to a hospital?” She throws over her shoulder “then shut up and work!” 

Sue is terrifyingly efficient, her movements quick and confident, her large hands with practical short nails steady. But Mickey sees the gentleness with which she touches Ian and he hears her murmur soft encouragements - and somehow that makes it easier to follow her lead. 

After a while, Ian’s skin loses its reddish colour and his violent shivering stops.

“Ok” Sue throws the last of the towel in the bucket near the bed “Help him to the bathroom, while I change the sheets. You got any clean ones?”

It’s not easy trying to wrangle Ian’s long-limbed form to the bathroom and back, while he’s barely conscious enough to move on his own, but after a few attempts Mickey manages. 

“Mickey” Ian murmurs when he tucks him back into the clean bed “Please, don’t leave me”

“The fuck would I do it for, tough guy?” Mickey covers him with the blanket and can’t resist leaning forward to press a kiss to the redhead’s temple, lingers for a moment pressing their foreheads together. He feels a gaze on his back and turns around quickly to find Sue leaning against the doorframe. She’s watching him with a strange expression, eyes roaming up and down his figure, from the tats on his hands to the messy hair he must be spotting; curious, evaluating. Mickey fights the urge to squirm under her gaze and pull away from Ian – this thing between feels so intimate, so deeply private. Instead, he stares back stubbornly, his hand on Ian’s chest. After a moment, Sue nods like she’s just arrived at some conclusion.

“I called my husband” She explains “Ian needs constant monitoring in case his temperature starts to rise again. We can take two-hour shifts”

“You don’t fucking have to” Mickey wants to throw her way, but holds his tongue. They stare at each other for a couple of moments before he shrugs and looks away. His gaze falls on the bedside table.

“Want a smoke?” He offers

 

***

Sue smokes like someone who gave up cigarettes a long time ago and still misses the taste. She drags each inhale slowly and just as slowly lets it out through a gap in the window. The familiar sounds of the South Side - screeching of the tires, shouts, someone’s screams - come from the outside. Mickey can’t help but glance towards Ian’s frame in bed, making sure he isn’t disturbed by the sounds, that he’s still breathing steadily.

“I wouldn’t worry, he’s a tough one” Sue says quietly “Too tough for his own good”

“He’s a stubborn pushy fucker” Mickey grumbles in agreement 

“I wouldn’t have been working with him otherwise” Sue smirks 

“Yeah? What would he do?” He latches on the distraction.

She tells him about getting Ian as her partner for the first time, about him demanding to stay on the crew despite his mental issues.

“Best decision Rita ever made” Sue finishes the story “He’s a natural”

“Course he is. Never knew how to give up” Mickey shakes his head “Always wanted to fucking help people, make something for himself. Army, West Point, EMT... He’s fucking smart and works his ass off...”

He stops rambling and looks away, slightly embarrassed that he’s singing Ian praise like some love stuck teenager in front of the person he’s only met once before in his life. He’s not even drunk, for fuck’s sake.

“A gold star” Sue says and he can hear the smirk in her voice “When Rita paired us up I thought he was going to be an obnoxious shit. Control freak, trained himself to do everything perfectly...”

Mickey can’t hold a smirk back.

“Didn’t expect to care for him that much, little shit” Sue’s voice trembles slightly “He just sprung on me with his heart on his sleeve, help everybody, never take no for an answer shit, you know?” 

“He does that” Mickey watches the quite rise and fall of Ian’s chest “He fucking does that” 

 

***

It ends up a hard night and Mickey would never admit how fucking grateful he is for Sue’s presence. 

Ian’s fever returns after a couple of hours, not as high as before, but just as miserable for the redhead. Nightmares come with it, anxiety similar to the one that plagued Ian on the way to Chicago. He slips in and out of slumber, always with Mickey’s name on his lips and desperate cry.

_“Watch out! They are here! Mickey, please! Oh, God, no, please, no! Run!”_

“Shh, I’m here, I’m all right” Mickey whispers to him every time, but nothing helps to calm him down, not for long. 

“He’s been having nightmares during the fall” Sue says. It’s supposed to be her turn to sleep, but she is yet to leave the room “About you getting hurt, mostly. That’s why he started seeing his therapist. It was driving him insane, poor thing”

That Mickey didn’t know and makes a note to ask Ian about it later. They talked about so many things, but there are many more wounds that Mickey knows remain untouched. 

That’s fine. If Mickey gets his say they have all the time in the world. 

 

***

“You sure you are going to be all right?” Sue asks as she throws the bag over her shoulder “I can talk with a couple of guys at the centre, they’ll be happy to help out”

Mickey shakes his head, he’s not sure he can trust some stranger with Ian.

“I should call his family. They’ll want to help out”

Sue nods, promises to stop by in the evening, shoots him a warm smile and leaves.

Half an hour later the Fiona appears in full Gallagher panic mode, ready for action and knowing what to do better than anyone else.

“When did it happen? Are you sure it’s not the meds? Did he take Tylenol?” 

He guesses, she means well; she’s driven by her concern for Ian after all. But her frantic questions, her obvious stress gets on his nerves. She’s busy, he gets it, Ian told him about her diner and building and middle-class ambitions. But in this case, she might as well stop pretending that she controls everyone, that she knows what everyone should be doing. 

And there is still this tension around her when she looks around their bedroom and kitchen awkwardly, like she still doesn’t quite understand what he’s doing here, why he and Ian are back together, what does it all mean. There is an underlying distrust in her eyes and a bit of resentment. She blames him for Ian’s spiralling, he guesses, which is not far-fetched, but... he’s tired and worried and angry. And he’s become too used to actually getting along with people (or at least not hating the hell out of them) to take this crap. Ian gave him a right to be here, nothing else matters. 

“We should take him to ER” she insists “Sue’s not a doctor, we might be missing something”

“If he’s not better by tomorrow, I will” He says in a voice that doesn’t allow any arguments “But until then I’m not dragging him around all over the city” 

To his surprise, Fiona relents, maybe because she doesn’t want a row, maybe because of whatever reason she keeps looking at her watch anxiously. Or maybe she’s a little taken aback by his determination. Or maybe, a tiny part of him hopes, she might be finally getting that it’s not her decision to make. It’s Ian’s and, until he tells him otherwise, Mickey’s. They earned it, damn it, to finally-finally make decisions for themselves.

She stays for another hour, awkwardly drinking coffee and staying mostly silent, but in the end of the day where is little she can do beside staring at Ian’s sleeping form and checking his temperature. She promises to send Debbie and Liam if they are free and drop by in the evening. 

He’s relieved when she leaves, the house once again quiet and “theirs”. 

 

***

When the bell rings half an hour later, Mickey marches to the door ready to rip whoever’s on the other side a new one. He’s tired and realistically he needs help, but the thought of Gallaghers filling up his house…

“Hey” Her dark hair is gathered in a messy ponytail and her blue eyes, almost exact shade to his own, are warm. And wordlessly Mickey steps forward and envelopes his sister in a bone crashing hug. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of realize that the 3rd part of this fic is almost a therapy session for me, where I slowly go over all the pain points and painful memories these two might have and force them to relive them... Oh, well, it just pops in my head this way :)
> 
> S6 timeline never made ANY sense (along with many other things)... but I prefer to believe that Ian spent 3-4 months in a bit of stupor (somewhere in the middle of which he went to see Mickey), before the he rescued that woman from the car.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Ian wakes up he thinks he must be still dreaming because Mandy's sitting in a chair across from the bed reading a magazine. Ian blinks several times expecting the vision to go away, but Mandy stays where she is.

_Chicago, mid-March_

 

***

 

When Ian wakes up he thinks he must be still dreaming because Mandy's sitting in a chair across from the bed reading a magazine. Ian blinks several times expecting the vision to go away, but Mandy stays where she is. 

Her hair is back to dark, she’s wearing ripped jeans and an old black t-shirt and she looks so beautiful and so like...  _Mandy_  that Ian heart hurts. He must have made a sound or something because Mandy looks up and smiles at him.

”Hey, sleepyhead” She moves to sit on the bed, touches his forehead “How are you feeling?”

”Better” He wheezes; makes an attempt to sit up in bed and finds himself so weak he can barely move. Slowly, with Mandy's help he manages to lean against the pillows. She hands him a bottle of water and helps him drink.

 “What are you doing here?” He asks not quite sure yet that she’s not a vision.

”That happy to see me, hm?” She smirks sarcastically and he feels a familiar urge to roll his eyes at her playfully.

“Mick called me last week. Said you would appreciate seeing me. Took me awhile to wrap up my things, but here I am. Arrived at the best moment too - to watch your pale ass sweet off gallons”

Ian tries to smile but it comes across weak. His entire body feels drained, muscles liquified as if he had spent months and not days in bed. And yet he is so fucking happy and content in this moment. 

“I'm _so-so_ happy to see you, Mandy” He admits hesitantly. 

“Likewise, asshole” Her voice trembles and suddenly she throws herself over him, arms enveloping him in a tight hug. The jostle resonates in his head painfully, but it doesn't matter. His second most favourite person in the world is here with him, despite the fact he had been such an asshole to her last time they saw each other. 

He doesn’t know how long they sit like that, hugging. 

“Where is Mickey?” He asks raspy when they pull apart finally. 

“Had to pop out for an hour to help Svetlana with something at the Alibi. He instructed me to watch over you like a hawk and be on your every whim” She smirks again, with that resigned  “Want me to call him?”

He shakes his head.

“He’s been taking care of me enough. I don’t want him to drop what he’s doing. 

He shrugs and leans back against the pillows. Mandy stares at him with fond exasperation that reminds him so much of her brother.

“You are an idiot” She informs him, looks him up and down “And you look like shit, Ian, like a dead warmed over”

Ian can't help it, he just starts laughing. It hurts his ribs and chest and his head, but it's so Mandy he feels like his heart would burst. 

“You should have seen me a couple of months  ago” He counters “I was high on drugs, coming off the manic phase, living at some assholes place” He pauses “Then I became a bum, tried to go to New Mexico to find Mickey. Couldn’t quite make it...”

“He told me...” Mandy squeezes his hand “Not everything, but a lot. I’m sorry, it happened that way. That you had to go through all of this, again” 

Ian looks down and shrugs. 

I’m sorry, too, you know” He squeezes her hand “For the last time... for how I treated you last time we met; for not reaching out, ever” He forces himself to look up and meet her gaze “I’m sorry, Mandy, I should have been a better friend”

“Sure, you should have!”

Ian appreciates that she doesn’t try to hide her annoyance from him. Her voice softens immediately though.

“I should have tried harder too. Should have guessed something was wrong”

“It was just...” He pauses trying to find a word to explain the complex mix of fear, regret and longing that made him stay away from her that last year. Comes with nothing better than “Hard” 

“No shit” Mandy says simply and she sounds so much like Mickey in that moment his heart constructs with painful tenderness. She bumps her feet against his thigh, playfully and Ian almost welcomes the ache.

“Asshole!” There is laughter in her words and Ian feels relief. 

“I won't do it again” It’s important for him, to make this promise “I'll never hurt you and Mickey again”

”Ok” Mandy nods like she’s willing to trust him. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt so good while feeling so shitty.

“You are back to black?” He motions to her head 

“Yeah, being blond kind of doesn’t work with my new gig” She smiles coyly and he frowns “I’ll tell you all about it, promise. When you are a little bit more awake” 

“Yeah?” He looks up hopefully “You are staying around?” 

“For a bit” She says “it’s been an interesting couple of months. Don't worry, I'm not going to be a pain in the arse for you lovebirds. Got a couple of things to do” 

Ian wants to know what she means, but he feels his eyes closing down again and Mandy forces him to lie down. He falls asleep almost immediately after. 

 

***

When he wakes up again, Mandy is still sitting at the foot of the bed, reading another magazine.

“What time is it?” He feels better now, a bit stronger

”Just after 3. Mick is running late but he said he'll be home in an hour or so. He told me to keep you warm, fed and entertained” she finally lifts her head smirking “You want to eat?”

”I need to pee” And he does, like a horse, so he sits up and starts to swing his legs on the side of the bed.

”Whoa! Not so fast asshole!” Mandy kneels on the bed “You are...

”I'm fine” Ian insists and gets up. There is a second there when he's vertical and then the world tilts and suddenly his butt hits the bed and Mandy's arms go around him

”Idiot!” She admonishes him “You haven't gotten out of bed for 2 days, haven't eaten anything and now you are playing superhero?”

Ian catches his breath and then they try it together, Mandy supporting him on his side. Ian's shocked at how weak his legs feel, how drained even a short walk to the bathroom makes him. 

“You want help with your...” she glances at his crotch and Ian shakes his head

”I can do it” He has to lean on the wall and he thanks the gods for the fact that he's wearing sweats so he can just pull his cock out and aim with one hand. He manages to flash and wash his hands afterwards leaning heavily on the sink. A glance at the mirror tells him that Mandy wasn't lying. He does look like shit, his skin pale, deep lines on his face, bloodshot eyes and limp hair. He forces himself not to think about what kind of picture he must have made in the last couple of days. He splashes some water on his face and forces himself to think positively. Would he care if Mick was sick and looked like shit? No! So, there is no reason to believe Mick would feel differently.  

“Ian” Mandy hands lands on his shoulder “Come on, let's get you to bed”

”No” He shakes his head stubbornly “Don’t want to go back in there”

”Ok” Mandy nods and Ian forgot how accommodating she was with him, always “sofa it is then” 

The track to the living room is slow and drains him, but he's so fucking happy to be out of the bedroom he barely notices. Mandy orders him to sit still while she fetched some food. 

”How long was I out?” He asks when she comes back, a plate of sandwiches in her hand. 

“A couple of days. Got us all worried. You were burning up like crazy at the point, pretty much out of it, so don't worry. It's only 3-4 hours ago that your fever let up”

Ian shrugs, giving up on trying to make sense of the last couple of days. The only images coming to his mind are out of his nightmares and that's not the route he wants to go down.

Mandy forces him to eat half a sandwich. 

“It was mostly me and Mickey looking after you, though your colleague Sue helped a lot and Fiona and Debbie stopped by. Another bite, come on!”

She hands him the rest of the sandwich.

“You were mumbling all the time, mostly asking Mickey to stay and forgive you” Mandy pauses “Refused to let him out of your grip”

Ian blushes and, of course, Mandy notices. 

“Not like he minded!” She laughs “Got you to calm down quickly every time, I was pretty amazed”

”He's good with me” Ian counters “Has always been”

“I could see it” Mandy nods, no judgement or surprise in her voice, but Ian can’t stop talking.

“He forgave me” He informs her and realises that he’s never said it out loud. He’s been trying to, in his sessions with Dr Foster, but it never quite worked

“After everything I’ve done, he forgave me” His hands start to tremble a little more and Mandy quickly reaches out to steady the plate in his hands.

”Easy” She murmurs and squeezes his hand and he presses back, grateful for the contact.

“He found me, took care of me...I had been off the pills for more than a couple of months, so I checked in for 36 hours ... they wanted to hold me for much longer but I ... I couldn't sleep there, couldn't bear to spend another hour there. I thought I had to do it, though, to make things easier for everyone... but in the end Mick just brought me home

”Good” Mandy says firmly “you belong home, here, with Mick”

It's so simple the way she puts it, like it's a universal truth. Sun rises in the east, it snows in winter in Chicago and Ian belongs with Mickey here. It lifts him a little, the way she says it. Ian wonders how he got so lucky to have not one but two Milkoviches at his side. 

 

***

When he wakes up next, he’s lying on the sofa under a quilt and there is a lot of banging coming from the kitchen. Slowly, he swings his legs down and manages to get up and crawl towards the kitchen. The sight that presents in front of him is worth the effort.

Mickey and Mandy are both hunched over the stove, peering into a large bowl. The kitchen around them looks like a war zone with a hundred dirty dishes and open packets strewn all over the place. 

“Are you sure that you got it right” Mandy asks dubiously “She was talking awfully fast” 

“Yes! I fucking got it right” Ian can swear Mickeys pouting “Boil the chicken for half an hour, then add corn and onions”

“Maybe the recipe sucks?”

“Believe me it doesn’t suck. Regina’s cooking is like fucking holy grail of cooking. You are just useless”

“Assface!”

“Bitch!”

Ian can’t hold back a chuckle that raises at familiar picture of bickering Milkovich siblings. They both turn to him simultaneously and the smile that cracks Mickey’s face at seeing him out and about is so bright Ian's heart skips.

”Look who decided not to kick the bucket” Mick jokes as he makes his way over, but the careful way he leads Ian to the table and makes him sit down shows just how worried he's been. Ian grabs his hand and kisses the back of it gently - trying to communicate his apology and gratitude. It should be awkward with Mandy here - they’ve never been for public displays of affection - but it’s not. Instead it feels right, comfortable. It feels like home. 

 

***

“You are managing a band?” Ian repeats dumbly and Mandy’s clearly enjoying his surprise from her position curled in a chair. 

“That’s what I said” Mickey murmurs beside him and Ian kicks him in the thigh. He’s half laying on the sofa, his blanket-covered feet in Mickey’s lap. The brunette scowls at him in response, but his fingers continue to caress his ankle in a gesture that Ian’s certain is unconscious.

He forces himself to focus on other things.

“Mandy, that’s amazing! What? How?”

So, Mandy tells him about meeting this start-up indie music band in one of her favourite bars in NYC, about helping them to organize an event after their manager bailed out unexpectedly. About one event turning into several and a fifth of the cut ending up in her pocket afterwards. 

“So, they are on the road for the next 6 months and I’m basically making sure it all works out”

“What about ... ?” Ian starts delicately

“Mick knows” Mandy nods and Ian can feel the brunette tense next to him. His face is neutral and sarcastic, and while Ian knows he would never judge his sister, he can feel his concern. 

“I guess I just got tired of sitting around, doing nothing but looking pretty. The music business doesn’t have any money, but at least I don’t have to wear high heels 24/7.  These guys are like babies in the woods, and sometimes they annoy the hell out of me, but at least no man tells me what to do, ok?” She shrugs and smiles happily. 

Ian can totally see it happening, see Mandy with her street smarts and determination lording over some artistic musicians. 

He smiles back happily and can’t hold back a laugh when Mickey mutters.

“I bet they are a bunch of pussies” 

 

***

Next morning, he wakes up feeling a bit stronger. Mickey is out like a dead man next to him, a slight frown on his face like he gets when he falls asleep really tired. Guilt bites at Ian - how much sleep did Mickey get while he was taking care of him? He brushes the soft dark hair of his lover’s face gently and lets him sleep. 

Mandy is in the kitchen already; she grits him with a soft smile and they sit together for a while, until Ian gathers enough courage to admit. 

“I am glad you are out of the escort” He hurries to explain “I was worried about you. After the hotel thing, when you left”

She smiles gently.

“I told you not to be, remember”

“I know. I know you can take care of yourself; you are the strongest person I know. I just... I didn’t want you to go through shit like that. It sounded glamorous, New York, business class flights, Broadway shows, but....” 

“But in the end of the day I still got almost beat up by some crazy dude, right?” She looks down and a dark shadow passes over her face.

“I wasn’t all right” She admits “Not as much as I pretended to be. “After Kenyatta, after being stuck in fucking Indiana…”

She shudders and Ian puts an arm around her shoulders “it felt good to see an admiration on some john’s face even if it was just because of how much I cost him... It was fun - all those things and clothes, the car, the apartment. But I was getting so tired of being a fucking tool to buy and sell” Ian winces, both in sympathy and understanding.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t there” He says and she smiles, almost bittersweet. 

“My knight in shining armour, best non-boyfriend I ever had” He ducks his head, embarrassed ”But there was nothing you could have done. I had to go through this on my own. New York... college... the band... It helped” She finds his eyes “I was safe, promise. And I’m all right now.” 

He believes her, believes her smile and the healthy look on her face.

“I was worried too” She admits “Kept thinking about you all the time. You were talking about all the good things - your new boyfriend, future, career. And yet you looked so... sad, so subdued. Like there was no life left in you”

“There wasn’t” He lets out a bitter laugh “I was trying for so long not to feel anything that I didn’t notice when it became a second nature. I just... I felt some surface emotions, you know, anger, disappointment, pride, lust... But it was all kind of subdued” 

“Because of your meds?” Mandy wonders

“No. I guess, maybe at first when the dose was too high. But, the rest, it was me - I thought this is how I supposed to live the rest of my life. I was ok with it... I _thought_ I was ok with it” 

“What changed?” Mandy asks gently and he laughs again

“Your brother escaped prison. And when I saw him again...” He hangs his head “I thought I shouldn’t feel like that, but here was Mickey and I could do fuck all about loving him”

“You deserve to feel, Ian” Mandy says thoughtfully “You know that, right? You deserve to feel. You deserve to be happy. You just need to remember what it feels like” 

 

***

It takes Ian several slow days to recover from his illness.

Having Mandy back feels strangely natural, like despite all the distance and lack of communication between them she’s still his Mandy, still his best friend and trusted companion. He never quite realized how much he missed her until she came back into his life. 

And having Mandy around means that he doesn’t have to depend on Mickey just as much. He can let him spend more time helping at the Alibi and dealing with his drivers or doing numbers for the business. 

And that makes him feel better. 

He and Mandy go out for walks, just as they used to when they were teenagers; talking and joking around; her presence like a protection shell around his fragile psyche.

“Was it me?” She asks him on one of these walks “Back in August, did I do something to piss you off?”

Ian stops and grabs at her shoulders. She wouldn’t meet his gaze and he hates how vulnerable she looks.

“No” He shakes his head desperately “No, Mandy, I swear, it was all me. I...”

He looks down

“I was a fucking mess. I was missing Mickey so much, my mom was dead, I felt like everything was crumbling and I couldn’t breathe. And you... I missed you so much! But...”

“I reminded you of Mickey” She smirks, a little sad and then shakes her head disbelievingly.

“You seemed so put together... So detached. It threw me, the way you talked about him like he didn’t matter… I know he put you through some shit, but he’s my brother. And I though a part of you still cared… I was a fucking idiot for not noticing that it was all pretence, that something was wrong”

“I’m sorry I pushed you away” Ian squeezes her shoulders “I’m sorry I hurt you” He shakes his head “I used to blame Lip for treating you like garbage and I went and did the same” 

Mandy’s eyes are huge and they sparkle with unshed tears. Ian can feel his own sight clouding. Rapidly he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“I guess it’s a Gallagher trait” He quips and Mandy lets out a shaky laugh. 

“You went through a lot of shit, Ian. Don’t be too hard on yourself” She turns serious “It’s not like you are the only person on the South Side who ever screwed up”

They both smile through the tears. 

“I missed you, Mandy” He admits “You don’t know how many times I wished you were here” 

She swallows a couple of times and then she moved closer and envelopes him in a tight hug.

“Me too. Met too, Ian”

 

***

Over the course of the next days Ian and Mandy tell each other everything that’s happened in the last two years. 

She tells him about moving to Indiana with Kenyatta, about their rows, his cheating, lack of attention. She doesn’t tell him about the beatings, but Ian is smart enough to guess on his own.

She tells him about running into a girl in the dinner she worked at, dressed prettily and expensively. About a business card with an agency name that the girl slipped her together with generous tips.

About her first clients, about the thrill of success and attention; about her adventures. About growing bored and lonely; about deciding that in the end, it wasn’t what she wanted.

 

He tells her how his relationship with Caleb ended, about his doubts and conflict. Tells her about Trevor too, how their friendship turned into a relationship for the sake of not being alone. 

He tells about almost going to Mexico with Mickey, coming back to find Monica dead, the meth, the longing, trying to find himself again.

He tells her about Debbie’s accident, their struggle to find money; he tells her about hooking, about getting money from Mickey. 

He talks about finding out about Mickey’s sentence, his episodes escalating to the point where he went off the meds, his months of manic-depressive rollercoaster.  

It's a lot to cover, a lot to stomach and hearing it all gives Ian a perspective on how much shit has happened over the last couple of years. Mandy listens to it all, without flinching, without judgement, without pity. Her eyes never leave his face, large and gentle; her hand almost always hovers around his shoulder or knee. That grounds him. 

Only when he’s done talking does she allow herself to speak. 

“So, let me recap. You break up with my brother because you believe he won’t be able to live you with your bipolar. You are scared that he’s trying to change you, but then move on with a black firefighter who is trying to turn you into this high cultured open-minded boyfriend? But he's HIV positive and thinks that fucking women isn’t cheating?”

”You complain for years that Mick doesn't want to admit that he's gay and you go fuck a woman just because some idiot made you feel inadequate?” 

”Then you move on to the guy who tries to turn you into a beacon for gay rights? And who is all nice and sensitive, but too macho to take it up the ass even once? And apparently

Thinks that pronounce define 

”Then you leave my brother at the border because you " _are not like that anymore_ " and you go get involved in a meth gang war with your crazy family and dig out your mother’s body”

“You spend months pursuing the guy you don’t care about so that you won’t feel lonely” 

“Then your sister almost loses her leg and you have to prostitute yourself to help her keep it, because you think you have the least to sacrifice? While your boyfriend sits around preaching. Did I get it right?”

”Well” Ian shakes his head “You forgot the part where I miss Mickey so much that I slowly lose my mind, push everyone I love away, my meds stop working without anyone noticing, I go live in a crack house and basically become a bum”

They stay silent for a moment and then Mandy starts shaking next to him wrecked by barely concealed laughter.

“I’m sorry” She gasps “I’m sorry, it’s just...” She almost doubles over.

And suddenly Ian feels a laugh escape him too, then another and soon they are both laughing out loud, clutching at each other. 

They laugh and laugh and laugh until Ian starts to hyperventilate, until there is no air left in his lungs and his eyes are filled with tears and he’s downright shaking. Mandy’s arms tighten around him in a bone crashing embrace; warm, stable, familiar. 

“I was such a fucking _idiot_ , Mandy” He whispers through his tears “I fucked up so badly”

“It’s all right” She whispers into his ear “It’s all right, Ian”

And maybe a part of him even believes her.  

 

***

“It’s ok to have bad days” Dr Foster tells him and he struggles with the concept. For him a bad day means the start of the episode; it’s a day he fails; it’s a day he allows all the good things in his life to slip. And he can’t afford it, not now, not when he just started to tentatively get things right again.

He doesn’t know what is different about today. What it is that makes it one of those days, when opening his eyes is almost impossibly hard, when his body feels like it’s made of lead, when almost nothing matters.

Mickey leaves early in the morning to take care of the Alibi while Svetlana is taking a day off. Ian’s the one who convinces him to go the day before. He feels a feather like kiss on his cheek when Mickey leaves; pretends to be asleep.

“Ian” Mandy shakes him what must be a couple of hours later “Ian, come on, it’s time to get up” He burrows into the covers further

“Ian” a hint of worry seeps into Mandy’s voice and she shakes him harder; tears well in his eyes at his own weakness, but he can’t move.

“Oh, Ian” Her voice is gentle “Can you look at me? Come on, look at me”

For several moments he can’t force himself to respond. Mandy waits him out patiently.

“Want me to call Mickey?” She offers and that finally props Ian to action even if it’s just a slight movement of his arm.

“No” He captures her hand “Please, don’t tell Mickey” 

He can’t bear this thought of Mickey rushing home, abandoning what he’s been doing to watch Ian lie in bed listlessly.

“Well, then you need to get up at some point” Mandy nudges him gently and he closes his eyes because he  _can’t_.

“Let’s make a deal, ok” Mandy’s hand brushes his hair “I’ll let you stay in bed till midday, but after that you need to move to the sofa. You don’t need to do _anything_ else, just move to the sofa”

And that’s how the day maps out to be. He moves to the sofa and sits there almost without moving for a couple of hours, until slowly Mandy coaxes him to watch TV with her. Then she demands he help her with the dinner. He just sits around cutting a single carrot for half an hour, but it makes him feel at least a little bit productive. 

By the time Mickey gets back home, Ian’s managed to shower and feels semi-human again. They eat dinner together and even if Ian’s mostly pushing things around his plate, he manages to be somewhat mentally present. Afterwards he insists on doing the dishes. 

“Ian?” Mickey’s hand lands on his shoulder gently when Mandy leaves the kitchen. He doesn’t comment on how slow Ian’s movements are (it’s only three plates, for fuck sake!), doesn’t try to take over either. Ian shuffles a bit closer, until his back presses against Mickey’s front. He can feel the brunette’s warm breath on his spine. In-out, in-out... It’s soothing, grounding. 

“I didn’t want to get out of bed today” he admits after he finishes the last plate. Mickeys hands are drawing circles on his side, calming and stable.

“You did in the end” He says simply and Ian allows his mind to settle on that thought. 

“I asked Mandy not to tell you” He feels a bit ashamed. He’s been sharing stuff with Mandy, things that Mickey should probably know. But he’s not hidden anything from him intentionally, not since they got back together. 

Mickey tags on his shoulders and slowly Ian turns to face his boyfriend. He’s biting his lip, not in anger, but like he’s thinking. 

“You could, you know. Tell me if you are feeling shitty. I promised to give you space”

“It’s not...It’s not _that_ ” Ian starts and leans heavily against the counter, his chin dropping down “I don’t want you to think I’m screwing up again” 

There is a hand in his hair tagging almost painfully to make him look up.

“You felt shitty, but still managed to be more productive today than all the deadbeats in the bar. Kinda doesn’t look like screwing up to me”

And there is nothing more that Ian can do but close the couple of inches separating them and kiss him deeply.

Maybe it’s all right to have bad days.

 

***

Ian knows that he shouldn’t be apprehensive about the meeting, but he can’t shake off the deep sense of shame when he steps into the familiar coffee shop and sees Sue waiting for him in the corner. She’s wearing civil clothes and a part of him is glad not to see the EMT uniform glare in his face. But her hair is pulled up in her customary ponytail, face devoid of any makeup save a soft eyeliner. The smile on her face when she sees him warms his heart. 

“Hey, Sue” 

“Hey, kid” Sue greets him the same way she did before every shift, hands him a large coffee, milk, no sugar, just as he always takes it. 

“You might want to add sugar to that thing for once” She measures him up and down

“And lose my supermodel figure” He quips, knowing he still looks gaunt, despite Mickey’s and Mandy’s best efforts. 

“More like victim of famine” She snorts and then smiles fondly “Seriously, though you look much better than the last time I saw you”

“Yeah... Mickey told me” Ian looks down “Thank you for helping out when I was sick. And sorry I haven’t been in touch after...”

“Pretty sure you had more important stuff on your mind” She shakes her head “Don’t sweat it, kid, I’m just happy to see you safe and home”

He lets her talk first, tell him about her mom’s illness, her husband and kids, funny things that happened during the holidays.

“How’ve you been?” She asks after they top up their coffee, Ian opting for decaf this time “And no bullshit!” She adds sternly

“I’ve ... It’s getting better” He admits “Mickey is taking care of me. We live together” For some reason saying it out loud makes him blush “And Mandy is here” He realizes belatedly that he never told Sue about Mandy and familiar guilt stabs at his insides “She’s my best friend, we used to be close before...” 

He tells her about his break down, about Mickey finding him, about the last couple of weeks he’s spent at home trying to get his bearings. Sue listens attentively, throwing a sarcastic remark every occasionally. He forgot how nice it is to be in her presence, how simple it is to share with her. But still talking about all this shit again, inadvertently puts him down.

After he finishes the story she reaches out and squeezes his shoulder suddenly, one strong confident movement, that somehow gets to the bottom of his heart. She’s not a touchy-feely person, Sue, not unlike Mickey. 

“I’m so glad that you are ok, bastard. We all are, at the station. Guys have been asking about you”

“Yeah?” He picks up at that “Really?” 

Sue measures him up sarcastically, a clear “ _I’m not feeding your ego”_  look. 

“They were all worried, especially after your angry bulldog of a boyfriend stopped by. Your Mickey” She clarifies and for some reason this “your” makes Ian blush, which Sue notices of course. 

“Oh, save me from this lovey-dovey shit all right? I don’t know how you two manage to co-exist” She snorts “I bet it’s like a competition for the most stubborn man on earth” 

“I have my ways” Ian notes nonchalantly and Sue’s face breaks into a solicitous grin.

“I bet” She jokes “Fucking like bunnies again? I must say I finally see the appeal... compact, muscular, killer eyes, the angry bad-boy aura... not bad, Gallagher, not bad”

He rolls his eyes. 

“We actually work really well” He changes the note to more serious “He’s really good for me, Sue” He doesn’t know why it’s important to him that she knows. Maybe because, he’s never been good at defending Mickey to other people before. 

“I can see that, kid” Sue smiles at him “I’m happy it worked out with you two” and that threatens to get Ian tear-eyed so he coughs and changes the topic.

“How’s everyone at the station doing anyway?”

Sue tells him about Rita being pissed off at Raoul for falling asleep in the locker room, about someone wrecking the rig by accident, about stupid gossip and rumours. Ian can’t keep the smile off his face when he hears about the familiar people; with all the shit happening he never quite realised how much he missed them.

“Everybody’s waiting for you to come back, Ian”

Ian looks down and leans away, let’s out a small laugh.

“Come on, Sue. You know it’s not going to happen” He shrugs

“Why not?” 

 “You know why” He clenches his teeth together, because, fuck it hurts “I got one chance and I blew it. It’s over for me at the EMT now”

“Rita doesn’t think so” Sue says matter-of-factly and Ian looks up in surprise “You think she is ready to let go of her star player? You didn’t do anything crazy on the job, Ian. You just didn’t show up one day. Sure, it screwed with your record a bit. You’ll probably have to re-take your exam and start out small again” She shrugs “But it’s not over. Not if you don’t want it to be”

And that... that means so much to Ian, so fucking much... The possibility to get this part of his life back, to start anew. 

It’s tempting. And it’s fucking terrifying. 

It feels like too much, too good to be true. Universe has already given him Mickey back. Surely, everything else is going to be too much, come at a price.

Sue’s hand covers his own and he realises he’s almost hyperventilating; wills himself to calm down.

“I... I’m not sure I’m ready for it” He admits and Sue accepts it without question.

“Plenty of time, kid, plenty of time...”

 

***

“What makes you think that you can’t have both your career and personal happiness, Ian?” Dr Foster asks him and he talks about his family, their screwed-up luck and how everything good in his life was immediately followed with some fucked up shit.

“Besides, do you think I’ll manage that kind of responsibility?” He asks 

“You did in the past, right? When, as we discussed, you felt alone, unhappy and without any support. What makes you think you can’t do it again, now that you have a great support system?”

That throws him, makes him uncomfortable and Dr Foster must see his conflict because she says kindly.

“But only _you_ can decide when you are ready, Ian. It’s all right if it’s not now or for a long time or never. It’s your choice, there are other venues you can pursue in life” 

Which is pretty much what Mickey tells him when he shares the news with him; like he has no doubt that Ian can do it, like it’s truly just up for him if he wants to. 

“Though you do look really hot in that uniform, man. Gets me almost as hot as your old camouflage pants did” He admits and Ian can’t quite hide the pleased smile on his face ( _he always knew Mickey liked those pants!_ ). 

Maybe he doesn’t have to decide here and now. Maybe everyone takes time to get ready. 

 

***

The topic of _readiness_ lingers in his head for a while, for a completely different reason. He asks Mickey about it one day, when he’s helping him to unpack the boxes at the Alibi. Ian likes helping out at the bar, loves Mickey working on something he is passionate about, likes listening to him talk with his friends and vendors in Mexico in a rapid mix of Spanish and English.

“Do you regret coming out like that?”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Mickey turns to look at him

Ian waves around.

“You know, during Yevy’s Christening, when I forced you to come out. Have you ever regretted it?”

“Why the fuck would I do that?” The ex-con continues to stare at him like he sprouted an extra head.

“Because I basically blackmailed you into doing it before you were ready? Because I took the choice out of your hands?” Ian shrugs “I just never before realised what a fucking drama queen I was about the entire thing. You had so much on your plate and I was just thinking about my feelings... And your fucking father almost killed you as a result... and maybe...”

“Shut up” Mickey cuts him off abruptly “Just shut the fuck up” He looks almost angry as he abandons the box he was carrying and stalks towards Ian.

“First of all, you didn’t take away my choice. I made that decision. Yes, it took the thought of losing you to make it, but it was fucking  _mine_ ”

“Second, don’t pretend like I didn’t spend the previous couple of years _stomping_ all over your “stupid” feelings when it came to us” He looks way for a second and Ian’s breathe hitches “You were fucking right to have had enough of it”

“Third, if my fucking father didn’t try to kill us, they wouldn’t have put him away and I wouldn’t fucking be free for the first time in my entire life. So, don’t you fucking dare to apologise for that!”

And Mickey still looks fucking angry when he finishes his speech, but Ian’s heart is hammering like crazy.

“I don’t want you to do stuff for me just because I demand it” He makes the last attempt to get his point across 

“Too fucking bad” Mickey snorts “You are a demanding shit by nature and you are fucking hard to resist. Believe me, I tried” 

He walks up right next to the redhead and palms his face.

“Never fucking managed to do it”

 

 

***

For most of the time, Mickey leaves Mandy and Ian to each other. It’s so obvious that the two missed each other and have some shit to work through. And no matter how much a part of him wants to wrap Ian up in a blanket and never let him out of his sight he knows that the stubborn guy needs his space, needs someone else besides Mickey to help him. And with Gallaghers still being decidedly useless (though the curly haired fucker might be making some amends after all), there are not that many people he can trust with Ian.

Besides, every time he comes home and finds the two of them on the sofa, feet intertwined, plates of food on their knees, his heart clenches with bittersweet memories. 

Today though, the sofa is empty and he finds Mandy alone, in the kitchen.

“He’s done a full shift at Patsies; went straight to bed” She explains in response to his raised eyebrow. 

“Stubborn idiot” Mickey mutters unable not to worry “Did he eat?” 

“Yes, mama bear, ate, took his pills, brushed his teeth” Mandy smirks and he flips her off automatically. Grabs a beer out of the fridge for himself, offers another to his sister.

“When do you leave?” He motions to the folder with bright posters advertising the band performance

“Tomorrow night” She waves a flyer “Three weeks tour, then I’ll be back in Chicago for a couple of days”

“Great, can’t wait!” He pretends that the idea annoys him and gets a light kick on the shin in response

“Asshole!” She throws his way and he has to bite his tongue not to say something mushy like “‘l’ll miss you”. It’s one thing when it’s between him and Ian, but other people are still tricky. 

“Text Ian” He says instead “He’ll be worried” Mandy nods and takes a gulp of her beer, her expression growing serious. 

“You’ll keep looking after him, right? He’s...” She looks at him sheepishly “He really needs you, Mick. He always behaves like he’s invincible but...”

“I know” Mickey nods, looks down, bites his lip in concentration.

“He told you stuff?” He shakes his head when he sees her face close off “I’m not fucking asking. I just...” He stares at his sister directly. 

“ _I_ make sure he’s fine and  _you_  make sure he’s fine, ok? And between the two of us, we’ll have it covered, ok? Like a family” 

“Like a family” Mandy smiles and nods. For a moment they stay like that, enjoying the quiet. Mandy’s fingers are worrying at the label on her bottle.

“I’m sorry, you know” she says suddenly “About all the shit that happened... with Ian, with the two of you, with prison. I’m sorry I wasn’t there”

It feels like someone slashed at him with a razor - a sharp pain that forces him to bite his lip. It’s not the kind of the stuff they say to each other. 

“There was shit all you could have done even if you were” He gulps the rest of his beer, continues playing with the bottle.

“I’m sorry too” He says a moment later, has to cough to get the rest of the sentence out “For Kenyatta. I should have blown his brains out instead of letting him beat up on you” 

“It was my shit, Mick” She shrugs “I never asked for your help”

“You fucking should have” Mickey says feeling strange and awkward. He forces himself to look up and meet his sisters eyes  “And I fucking hope you will. If you ever need it. In the future”

“Ok” She agrees simply and suddenly it’s back. That connection that he’s only ever felt with Mandy out of all his siblings. 

Mickey and Mandy Milkovich. Taking care of their family. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always loved Mandy and Ian's friendship. I recently re-watched parts of season 6 and the episode when Mandy comes back has broken my heart a little. Ian/Mandy scenes are so incredibly sad, despite the fact that they are talking about "doing all right". I really wanted them to have another heart-to-heart :)
> 
> Just a kind a reminder that comments make me very-very happy :)


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At first it seems that the new meds combo is working well. Ian's not feeling nauseous or muddled. His evaluations come through as stable. He wakes up easily and he doesn't want to climb the wall from anxiety. 
> 
> The problem is he can't get it up.

_End of March, Chicago_

 

***

At first it seems that the new meds combo is working well. Ian's not feeling nauseous or muddled. His evaluations come through as stable. He wakes up easily and he doesn't want to climb the wall from anxiety. 

The problem is he can't get it up. 

It kind of happens overnight. He and Mick fuck on Sunday in the living room, enjoying their first night of freedom after Mandy’s departure. They wake up all intervened and naked the next morning and Ian can feel Mickeys erection pressing into his thigh, but he's flaccid himself. He doesn't think anything about it at first... he's still weak and undernourished and it is easier for him to tire these days. But worry settles in his stomach as well. He goes for a long walk and they are both busy that day so it's easy to pretend he's just tired in the evening. Next morning, he tries to masturbate in the shower, but it doesn't work. He runs himself almost raw, but his cock just hangs there, limp and useless. He has to bite his lips hard not to cry and hides in the bedroom to call his doctor and report the issue while Mickey is cooking breakfast. She's sympathetic but tells him what he already knows - his body's adjusting, he needs to give it some time. He spends the day contemplating what to say to Mick. It's not like he's going to be able to hide it for longer than a couple of days. 

Next morning, he wakes Mickey up with a blowjob and delights in taking him apart to tiny little mewling mess. Once Mickey caught his breath he turns around on his side with a wicked smile:

“Time for me return the favor, firecrotch” His hands start moving slowly down Ian's chest to his groin hidden in the blankets, but Ian hands on his wrist stop him 

“Don't bother” He swallows and continues to stare at the ceiling “can't get it up”

Mick is silent for a minute, his hand’s frozen.

“The meds?” He asks finally, his fingers splaying on Ian's stomach. He's not trying to get his wrist out of redhead’ grip.

“Yeah” Ian nods

“Since the day before yesterday?” Mickey asks calmly “Did you try to...?” Ian closes his eyes and focuses on the warmth of his hand on his stomach 

“Tried to jerk off several times” He admits “It didn't work”

“You want me to try and...?” Mickey makes an attempt to move his hand, but Ian tightens his grip and he stops without comment.

“You called the doctor?”

“Yeah” Ian murmurs, not able to hide the bitterness “She says it's normal, yada-yada, will pass”

“It will” Mickey confirms and Ian snorts “Ian, look at me” He waits him out until Ian turns his head around. Mickey’s hair is tussled, his eyes impossibly blue and filled with calm and determination “We have been here before, ok? And we both know it's temporary. Your body will adjust, you get back on track. We are fine” He says calmly and then more forcefully when he sees Ian trying to avert his gaze “Ian, we are fucking _fine_ ”

Cautiously, he moves forward silently asking for a kiss and Ian meets him half way, trying to convey everything he feels at the moment. 

 

***

And they are fine or at least Ian manages to believe it for a couple of days. Mickey doesn't make a big deal out of Ian's limitations. He's free with his affections and kisses, he jokes and laughs, doesn’t pester Ian with questions. 

Ian doesn't know where the anxiety comes from. It seeps under skin and takes a permanent hold on his guts. He starts watching Mickey like a hawk, scared of his potential frustration and unhappiness. He alternates between trying to jerk of all the time and not touching his dick for days. But as days turn into a week and then 8 days, he is becoming more and more worried. He's trying to compensate Mickey for lack of fucking with constant blowjobs and rim jobs. But while Mickey seems appreciative of the gestures and satisfied, every other morning he finds an excuse to get out of the morning blowjob. Ian does not give up, tries harder to seduce Mickey at every opportunity and one morning even gathers the courage to ask him directly.

“I just don’t want it if you don’t want it, man” Mickey shrugs “We have plenty of time to catch up when you feel better”

“When I can finally get it up, you mean?” Ian throws his way and Mickey scowls “What if it takes a couple of months? You planning to go around with blue balls all that time?” 

“Don’t be fucking dramatic, man” Mickey sighs deeply “It’s not going to be months. And it’s not like we are not doing anything”

Which is true, but not enough to calm the raging questions and doubts in Ian’s head.

 

***

“You’ve ever bottomed with anyone else?” Ian asks as they lay in bed one night. The room is dark, but he knows that Mickey’s awake.

“What?” The ex-con asks “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“After us” Ian grits through clenched teeth “You ever let anyone fuck you?”

Mickey stays silent for a moment and Ian feels acid pool in his stomach.

“Why the fuck do you want to get into that now?” Mickey shuffles next to him awkwardly and it’s a damn good question, but Ian can’t stop now. 

“That means, yes, you did” He snorts bitterly. He’s itching for a fight, a confrontation, anything. 

“Jesus Christ” Mickey murmurs “Yes, a couple of times. Satisfied?” 

“In prison?” Ian presses and Mickey almost jumps next to him

“Fuck! No! What do you think, I’m insane? I wasn’t about to become someone’s bitch!”

“In Mexico, then?” Ian presses and the silence is clear enough. And it was Ian who started this conversation and it’s not like he didn’t know that Mickey must have had lovers or fuck buddies or just random hooks up. But that does nothing to stop the tears pulling in his eyes. 

“Was he better than me?” He asks feeling almost hysterical “Or they? I mean if there were several...”

“Ian, stop” Mickey shuffles closer and reaches out to touch him, but Ian forces himself to move away. Fuck, he doesn’t know where it’s coming from, this... this fetid poisonous _shit_ pouting from him, but he can’t stop it. 

“Is that a yes too?” Now he even sounds hysterical and Mickey reaches out and grips his shoulder.

“Don’t be fucking _stupid_ ” He hisses “You fucking know that’s not true. It’s us, man - nobody is better than that”

That makes something inside Ian let go a little, though anger and resentment - at himself or Mickey or faceless characters that Mickey allowed to fuck him - lingers.

“It’s not like I’ve done it a lot, man. You know, I mostly top with other people” Mickey says softly and that catches on Ian’s brain in a completely different way.

“We could do that, you know?” He says after a while “You topping”

“What?” Mickey shuffles as if he’s trying to see Ian’s face in the dark “You want me to top you?” He sounds dubious and Ian’s annoyance come back 

“You do it with other people, right?” Ian insists “And I bottom now too, so...”

He bites he tongue, belatedly realizing that it’s the topic Mickey might not want to engage into, based on how his entire frame freezes next to Ian.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot” there is acid in his voice now too “You got converted. Wanna tell me how _that_ happened?” 

And Ian really-really doesn’t so he chooses to attack instead.

“I guess I just wanted to be more versatile, like you” He bites out.

“Yeah? Fuck a woman yet?” And now it’s Ian’s turn to freeze because this is not where he wanted it to go. He wills his body to unlock, but it’s no use to hide away from Mickey who knows him better than anyone else. They both stay silent for a moment.

“The fuck, Ian, really?!” And there is so much shock  in his voice that Ian feels himself growing red. It was one thing to tell Mandy about what he’s done, but telling Mickey feels differently. Desperately he grabs at his anger and frustration. 

“What? You mean it’s something you can do, but I can’t?”

“That’s not what I fucking… First, I haven’t fucking done it for years, second, that’s not a point... I just... You just... You always... You always knew who you _were_ , man...”

And it’s doesn’t sound like an accusation, Ian tells himself stubbornly; but, fuck, it feels like one, maybe because it echoes his own thoughts, and shame at allowing the doubts and frustrations to drive him to do something he hated. 

“People change, Mick, if you haven’t noticed” He bites out angrily and Mickey sighs.

“Ok, fine! You are versatile now! You get your libido back, we’ll try me topping if you want! Now, let me fucking sleep”

He turns away and throws the blanket over himself.

Ian swallows the tears that fill his eyes and tries to get rid of thoughts in his head.

 

***

The thought stays with him. 

 

***

Mickey hates this distance between them, can’t quite understand where Ian’s mind is at. He’s affectionate and talkative one minute, silent and distant the second. Objectively, everything’s fine - Ian seems stable, he goes to work, joins Mickey in the Alibi in the afternoons. But their night conversation plays again and again in his head, making him feel like he’s losing the grasp on something that’s always been instinctive and simple for them. 

It’s a couple of days later that Ian shuffles next to him in bed. Mickey’s slightly tipsy and already halfway asleep but his tiredness disappears like that as soon as Ian’s lips start tracing a hot path down his neck and his hand sneaks under the blanket and gently cups him through his boxers. And, fuck, there is nothing quite like the feeling of Ian’s fingers and mouth turning his body into a liquid fire. 

“Got your groove back, Firecrotch?” He mumbles, but the rest of his thoughts disappears in a moan as Ian’s mouth closes around his dick. His mind turns into mush - fuck, maybe he shouldn’t have had that last shot of tequila with Svetlana. 

Suddenly Ian stops and Mickey can’t help the whine that escapes his throat. 

“Shh” Ian’s lips make their way back up his body, until they are right against his ear. His hand squeezing him gently “I want you to fuck me” 

He whispers into his ear hotly and despite the fact that it’s not what Mickey likes to hear from his boyfriend in moments like that, the filthy way in which Ian speaks sends a current directly to his dick.

“Yeah?” He murmurs seeking his lover’s mouth “How about you fuck me?” 

Ian avoids his mouth latching on his neck instead, on that spot that always drives Mickey crazy.

“Come on” Ian’s hands pull Mickey’s arms up and lock them above his head “I’m all ready for you” The redhead flexes his body in a way that makes Mickey’s cock slip between his ass cheeks, slick with lubricant.

“Fuck!” Mickey hisses and gives up - if Ian really wants to... His hips buckle up on their own accord, an instinctive gesture.

It’s a millisecond movement, barely noticeable; Mickey’s sure he wouldn’t have paid any attention to it if he wasn’t familiar with every fucking inch and tick of Ian’s body. But he is, so when Ian freezes for a second, he does notice. The fog of lust lifts and he sees other things too - Ian is completely soft against his stomach and his face is pinched in concentration, not desire. The realization slams into him like a freight train and he scrambles from underneath Ian.

“The  _fuck_  are you doing?” He almost shouts, his heart beating in his ears like crazy. Ian’s expression looks lost for a moment before it hardens in familiar stubborn mask.

“I’m trying to have sex with my boyfriend if you haven’t noticed” He bites “And I thought you were kinda interested?” He motions to Mickey’s rapidly flagging erection.

“That’s what you call it?” Anger burns in Mickey “What the fuck, man?! You aren’t even hard!” 

Ian goes pale and pulls away from him, scrambling off the bed. 

“Oh, I didn’t know I needed to be commando to earn the honour of being fucked by you” He throws bitterly and starts pulling his clothes.

“Not. What. I. Fucking. Meant” Mickey grinds trying to calm down, be reasonable, but he can’t explain why what happened left him feeling so uneasy.

“Oh, Yeah? What did you mean Mickey?” Ian pulls on his pants, his hands trembling

“I meant that the next time you want to use my dick, you might want to fucking ask me?” Mickey climbs off the bed as well. His heart is stuttering.

“I just wanted to make you feel good! That’s a crime?” Ian throws “You said we are cool, everything’s fine, we’ll get through this. You don’t even fucking want me!” 

“Fuck you, Gallagher” He does not soften the steel in his voice; lets the anger and panic show “What I don’t want is to feel like a fucking rapist! Believe me, it doesn’t make me feel good”

Ian steps back as if he hit him and his expression turns uncertain, but the next second he recuperates enough to attack. 

“Oh, come on, Mick, really! Because everybody you fucked in prison really wanted it?” The stubbornness is back in Ian’s voice and Mickey knows that he still does not get why Mickey is so hurt. 

“Jesus Christ, really?” The anger fueled by fear burns deep in the ex-con veins. 

“Yes, really!” Ian throws his hands up 

“Well, next time you want to make me feel good, offer me a fucking blowjob, ok?” He turns around to pull his own boxers and when he straightens up the look on Ian’s face is angry and closed off.

“Suck you off, Mick? So that I am “a warm mouth” to you once again”  He pulls on the rest of his clothes “Thanks!” 

“You don’t want to be a “warm mouth” so you decide to be a “warm asshole”? Really, Ian? That makes any sense to you?”

“Fuck you!” The redhead almost screams “You don’t understand!”

He turns around and rushes out of the bedroom 

“Ian!” After a moment Mickey follows him, feeling ridiculous chasing his boyfriend around the house. By the time he reaches the living room, Ian’s already slamming the front door.

“Ian!” 

He slams his fist into the wall angrily. Fuck him if he knows what has just happened. 

 

***

Ian tries to stay angry and furious, but as soon as he leaves the house the anger is replaced by fear and the deep feeling of loss and his inadequacy. Mickey doesn’t understand, behaved like Ian did something horrible instead of just trying to be close to him. Tears spring to his eyes and he desperately wills them away. He wants to talk with someone and for a moment he regrets that Mandy’s gone. But then he’s not sure it’s the kind of thing he could have talked with Mandy about. Nor it is the topic to be raised with Dr Foster - what would he say? “ _I can’t get it up and my boyfriend doesn’t want to fuck me?_ ” He’s feeling pathetic enough as it is.

 

***

He ends up at Patsies because it’s familiar and close by and open late. He finds a table at the very far end corner and orders coffee. Belatedly he realizes it’s also a place, where most of his family hangs out. 

“Hey, man, what are you doing here?” Lip comes up to him; he’s clearly just finished his shift. 

“I was just passing by, wanted a coffee” Ian tries to put a neutral face, but clearly, it’s not working because Lip drops on the seat opposite and nudges his foot.

“Come on, man, what’s up? Trouble in paradise” He smirks a little, but the death glare that Ian shoots freezes the smile on his face “Really?”

Lip drops on the seat opposite. 

And it’s fucking  _embarrassing_ , and he hates the idea of Lip knowing, but he’s also one if the few people he can talk to about something like that and they’ve been slowly trying to re-build their relationship recently. 

“I can’t get it up” He says quietly

“What?” Lip frowns 

“My dick’s not working, ok?! Because of the new meds” He blurts our louder and more aggressively than he intends to.

“Oh...” Lip looks thoughtful for a moment, his gaze shifting down “Ok” 

“Sorry to hear, man” Ian’s grateful for the calm, casual way he reacts “But that’s temporary, right?”

“Yeah, supposed to be” Ian hangs his head. 

“Is Mickey...” Lip starts carefully “Is Mickey giving you shit about it? Because, fuck him if...”

“No!” Ian retorts angrily and lets out a bitter laugh “It’s the fucking opposite”

And so, he tells Lip about the last couple of weeks, about Mickey rejecting his advances, about the events of the night. Lip listens without interruption and when Ian finishes, he smirks.

“So, you mean to tell me that macho Milkovich always bottoms?!” He can’t hold back the smirk

“Fuck you!” Ian shots up in his seat, embarrassment and anger coloring his cheeks 

“Sorry!” Lip grabs at his arm “I’m sorry, man! I didn’t mean to make fun, promise.”

Ian stares him down for a moment, sees the sincerity in his face; drops back into his seat.

“I just can’t fucking believe him, ok? He basically said I made him feel like a rapist!”

Lip shifts in his seat and looks away for a moment.

“Look, man... I don’t know how that works between two guys. And, fuck, I never thought I would say it about Mickey Milkovich, but...  But I can kind of get what he means” He shrugs “If I’m in bed with a girl and realise she’s only doing it for my sake... kind of takes the fun out of the entire thing” 

Ian thinks about it from this perspective, a prickle of shame stabbing his insides.

“It’s different” He argues weakly “I literally can’t... do anything right now. I just don’t feel like that”

“Then why the fuck are you trying to force it?” Lip wonders almost gently.

Ian shrugs, struggling to vocalise why it’s so important for him to be able to be intimate with Mickey. Why the thought of Mickey being fine with the current situation is so _hurtful_. 

“It’s not like it always goes both ways” He says stubbornly, hates how petulant he sounds to his own ears “How many girls have blown you without getting off themselves? Mickey’s blown me in the past without getting off” 

“TMI, man” Lip shrugs “And it’s different, you know it is. Sure, it’s not always fair and square, but at least you know the possibility is kind of there” 

And maybe deep inside him Ian does see the difference, but it’s difficult trying to admit it

“I just wanted to be close to him” He whispers, not looking at his brother “I thought he would at least jump on the opportunity to top” He voices his other concern. 

“So, you guys, like never done it that way?” Lip frowns and Ian shakes his head

“Oh, man, I’m not... Maybe he just doesn’t like it?” His brother suggests

“He topped with other people” Ian says bitterly “It’s me who... I just never... I’ve always, you know?”

“You never bottomed?” Lip asks thoughtfully “Damn, and I wondered why my speech about one-way track didn’t work?”

“Shut up” Ian grumbles, though he can’t hold back a smile remembering their conversation in the old van all those years ago “Not. Funny”

“I’ve never done it, not until Trevor” he admits more seriously “Trevor? But he... How did you?” Ian shoots him a death glare and he nods, looking almost embarrassed “Got it!”

“So, Trevor, but never anyone else?” And Ian’s not going there, never, so he shakes his head “I mean, I might have done some stuff when I was manic, but it’ not like I remember it well”

“Ok, does Mickey even know that you like it now? Or he thinks you are only doing it because you can’t...” He must see something in Ian’s face because he pauses and frowns “Wait,  _do_  you like it now?”

“I don’t mind” Ian shrugs and belatedly realizes how pathetic it sounds “It’s just that Trevor wouldn’t bottom and it felt weird pressing him into something like that. He thought it was unfair if he bottoms and I don’t” Saying it out loud sounds weird now and Lip frowns.

“I don’t mind it” He repeats and tries to conjure up his residual anger. Instead, his next words come out weakly.

“Mickey fucking reacted as if I wasn’t in my right mind to offer!” 

Lip stays silent for a moment.

“Look, bro, I honestly... I’m obviously not an expert. You seem to think it’s a big deal, maybe it is” He shrugs “I have no idea what Mickey’s thinking. But it kind of sounds like he doesn’t want to take advantage of you. And  - holly shit, I can’t believe I’m about to say it - maybe he’s right ok?”

And then Lip says the words that Ian never expected to hear from any member of his family. 

“Mickey loves you, Ian. He wants what’s best for you. Talk with him” 

 

***

His anger is completely gone by the time he makes his way back to the Milkovich house, replaced with deep apprehension. He walked out on Mickey, he realizes belatedly, threw pretty harsh words at him too. He’s not sure if he should be relieved or worried when he finds the brunette sitting on the porch, smoking. There is a bruise on his right fist; he doesn’t say anything as he watches Ian approach.

“Hey” Ian mutters weakly as he comes to stand a couple of feet away. 

“I’m sorry” He catches Mickey’s gaze, realizes that the brunette looks just as apprehensive “I shouldn’t have walked out on you. Or shouted. Or done any of this really”

Mickey stares at him for a few seconds and then his features soften.

“I’m sorry too” Mickey says softly. 

Ian feels like a huge weight drops of his shoulders; he sits down on the stairs opposite his lover. 

“The fuck’s happening, Ian?” Mickey asks and his words are gruff, but his voice is almost gentle

“I hate you pulling away from me” The redhead admits without meeting Mickey’s eyes “It makes me feel like you don’t want me”

“I fucking _always_ want you, Ian” Mickey sighs “Always. But I can’t just ... take, ok? I can’t enjoy something when I know that you are not into that”

“Just because I don’t have a fucking erection, doesn’t mean I don’t want you!”

“So, you wanted to fuck tonight?” Mickey asks and a bit of steel is back in his voice “No lying”

Ian takes a deep breath.

“No” he admits “I didn’t want it. But I just...”

“You just what?” Mickey’s voice softens again “Ian, it’s not like it’s the end of the world if we don’t fuck for a couple of weeks. We survived fucking years without each other. I’m not here because you get me off better than anyone else in the world, Gallagher” 

And there must be something in Ian’s face that makes him stop.

“You know it’s not why I’m fucking here, right?” Ian can see the hurt and worry in Mickey’s eyes.

“I know” he says because it’s true “I do know, Mick. But it’s part of who we are. We’ve always had amazing sex, that’s part of it. And now I can’t...”

He feels those fucking tears prickling at his eyes again and he lowers his head. Mickey is having none of thought – he leans forward. 

“That’s not the fucking part that holds it together. It used to be, I’ll give you that, because of me, because of how I treated you. But it’s not anymore, ok? I don’t want you to know that, I want you to fucking believe it”

“I do!” Finally Ian gathers enough courage to look up “Mick, I do. It’s not what I’m afraid of. I just... I  _miss_  you. I miss us” 

Mickey stops tapping his food and looks at him.

“It’s different when we are together, ok? I...” He tries to explain it, what being intimate with Mickey does for him, how _important_ it is. How since the day he ran like crazy to this very house because his world tipped over one more time the only thing he could think off, the only reprieve from pain and confusion was to lose himself in the blue-eyed boy’s arms.

It ends up unnecessary; it’s one of these times Mickey seems to know what he means without words. An understanding downs in the blue eyes and they darken with tenderness. 

“I miss you too, tough guy... A lot...” Mickey admits and the words settle as a pocket of warmth somewhere deep in Ian’s stomach. He’s not alone, he realizes suddenly, he’s not going through this on his own.

“Then let me show it to you... Don’t pull away every other time I want to give you a fucking blowjob” 

Mickey sighs and looks down.

“You don’t even let me return the favor, man! At least when it happened last time...”

“I don’t want you to spend hours down there trying to make things happen, when I know they won’t, ok” Ian admits “Every time we try, it’s like I fail... Fail you. I don’t want it. I just want to make you feel good”

Mickey stays silent for a while and then nods. 

“If I promise not to push you away, you need to fucking promise to never - fucking never, Ian - do something that you don’t want. We’ve done a lot of fucked up things, man, but not this”  

Ian has to swallow a couple of times before he can make his throat work.

“I promise” He nods “I promise, Mick”

“Then fucking come here, already” The brunette throws his cigarette away and the next moment their mouths slam together, arms around each other. 

They are kissing like crazy out in the open on Milkovich porch and suddenly Ian feels giddy like all his teenage fantasies suddenly came true; he lets out a delighted laugh.

“The fuck, man?” Mickey grumbles, but doesn’t wait for the answer, just pulls him back into his embrace.

 

***

Later when they are lying facing each other in bed, not touching, but a bare inch from each other, Ian admits quietly.

“I hate these side effects. I would prefer the shakes and nausea to that. I hate not knowing when it’s going to pass”

He doesn’t expect any response to that, is mostly just complaining. Mickey’s thumb circles gently on his neck.

“Then let’s ask your doctor to change them” He offers and Ian freezes. 

“Again? Mickey, it’ll be another adjustment, more fucked up days, vomiting, all this shit. You want to go through it again?” 

“Fuck, yeah, if you are ready” Mickey shrugs “Everything has side effects, right, that’s what your doctor says? Well, you don’t like these, let’s try to find the ones you can deal with” 

 

***

And in the end, it ends up easier than he expects. He chats about it with his doctor, who’s hesitant to shift him to another drug. But Dr Foster supports his decision - it’s his choice which side effects he is willing to deal with. Over the course of the next week he slowly transitions to another drug. 

At first there is not much difference. The shakes thankfully do not return, though he does get a nervous tick in one eye and his energy levels flag a little. His erection kind of comes and goes too, but he almost doesn’t mind - true to his promise Mickey allows him as much intimacy as he wants to give. 

And then one morning Ian’s getting dressed while Mickey’s taking a shower. The door’s open because it’s only two of them in the house and Mickey enjoys the freedom. It’s not exactly a moan that escapes the brunette’s mouth, more like a deep sign - he’s been helping to unload the truck the previous evening and his shoulders must still be sore. But it goes straight to Ian’s insides and suddenly he’s on fucking _fire_. He drops his shirt and walks straight in the bathroom, losing his pants on the way.

Soap and water glitter on Mickey’s skin. His mouth falls open in surprise for second when Ian throws the curtain aside and steps into the shower; but it quickly turns into a pleased half smile.

“Hey, you” His arms are already pulling Ian towards him. 

 

***

Mickey can’t hide his surprise and slight apprehension when Ian raises the topic again. It’s been a couple of weeks of surprisingly well-working meds and return to their usual level of passion. So, the last thing he expects is Ian starting to talk about bottoming again as they are getting Alibi ready for the day.

“I thought we’ve talked about it” He grumbles; it’s not that he’s completely against the idea, he just doesn’t get why it’s suddenly a big deal for Ian. 

“And you said that we could try it when I get my groove back. Well, I’m back, everything’s in working order”

And there is something in his expression that makes Mickey tense in a completely different way, something that he can’t quite understand and he’s not sure that Ian does either. And he’s not sure he’s making the right decision when he nods. 

“Ok, ok, Jesus Christ” He grumbles 

“When?” Ian asks almost eagerly 

“I’m not putting a schedule together for fucking, Gallagher” He turns around annoyed and goes to check on the kegs.

And maybe the simple explanation behind his reluctance is jealousy - the thought of Ian trying, discovering something new, something he likes with someone else, someone who’s not Mickey. But then, neither of them have ever been monks and it’s not something he typically does - care about who’s Ian been with in the past. Or maybe, it’s something else, something deeper, a strange feeling of disconnect that he gets every time this topic’s been discussed. Because he always thought that he knew what Ian likes, that they always fit perfectly together when it came to their desires and preferences. Even back when Mickey was balls deep in denial about his sexuality, he’s never had a moment hesitation about their roles in bed. And now it feels as if his ingrained knowledge of how they work is being challenged. 

In the end, he gets tired of thinking about it. 

A couple of days later they are both in bed and Micky simply grabs the lube from the nightstand.

“Still want to do it, firecrotch?” He lifts his eyebrows and Ian nods stubbornly. Compared to the last time they almost did it, Ian’s strangely passive -  like together with the position he gives Mickey full control over what’s happening. 

Mickey doesn’t mind it. Doesn’t love it either. 

He guides them both on their sides, face to face, Ian’s leg over his thigh; for some reason Mickey wants to see Ian’s face, wants to be able to touch him as much as possible as he works him open. It’s a bit of an awkward angle, doesn’t allow for the deepest penetration, but Mickey doesn’t need it. This, whatever’s happening, in a strange way is all about _Ian_ and it’s his pleasure that Mickey’s got on top of his mind.

And Ian’s tight as a glove around him and he’s deep enough to brush against the redhead’s prostrate, but Mickey knows that it’s not going to be enough. He can come on Ian’s dick more or less untouched, but his boyfriend’s just not made this way. Ian proves him right the second he slips inside him, his hand flying to his crotch, before Mickey bats it away and takes over. They move like that, shallowly, connected everywhere they can be, breaths mixing and sweat pulling on their skin until they reach a peak.

 

***

Ian winces a little when Mickey slips out of him. The feeling is a bit weird, obviously different from what he had done with Trevor. The entire experience is different - from the way Mickey’s flesh felt inside him to the way he moves. 

He flips on his back and stares at the ceiling.

“You all right, man?” Mickey murmurs from beside him after a while. His voice is a little sleepy, like it always is after sex.

“Yeah” Ian shoots him a quick glance, takes a couple of breaths.

“Did you like it?” He asks finally and is met with a sarcastic snort 

“Wasn’t it fucking obvious?” 

“More than me fucking you?” Ian presses and  _that_  apparently gets Micks attention. He turns on his side and stares at Ian’s face, deep frown between his eyebrows. 

“Firecrotch, there is  _nothing_  I like more that you fucking me” 

Something inside Ian lets go a little. They lay like that in silence, for a long time, until their breaths calm completely.

 “I don’t like being fucked, Mick” He admits suddenly, then realizing how it sounds corrects himself “I mean I liked it, what we did, that’s not what I mean. I just...” He turns around to face Mickey “I really-really prefer to top”

“Ok” Mickey bites his lip “It’s good, because I really-really like when you do” 

“I just thought - you like topping with other people, we should at least try it. To be fair, you know?” 

Mickey glares at him strangely.

“What the fuck do other people have to do with us? I’m not here with other people, I’m here with you. You like fucking me, I like when you fuck me. It sounds like it’s all fair. So, what’s the fucking problem?”

He lifts his eyebrow as if he doesn’t quite understand what is so complex about it. 

And maybe there is _nothing_ complex about it, Ian realizes. Maybe, all this shit, doubts and apprehension only ever been in Ian’s head. Maybe there is no need for negotiations or power struggles or sacrifices. He and Mickey has always just matched perfectly - simple as that. He lets out a shaky breath. 

“I guess there is no problem” He says quietly “I don’t know why I was so weird about it”

Mickey still looks at him a little unsure. 

“Wanna tell me what’s it about?” Mickey asks gently and Ian

shakes his head. There is plenty of things that he tells Mickey, plenty that the brunette should probably know. The shit with Trevor isn’t one of them. Maybe he’ll talk about it with Dr Foster next time he sees her.

Mickey accepts his answer simply.

“So, now that we are done with this gay chit-chat shit, you have any energy to get on me properly?” He smirks and lets out a delighted laugh when Ian throws him on his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we are back to a bit of drama... 
> 
> Was this chapter weird? I just realized before posting that it's basically 5K of words about their sex life. But I think the physical connection between Ian and Mickey is such an essential part of their relationship that losing it is something that they needed to address properly. 
> 
> Also, I personally did not like some of the Ian's sex-related stories in S6-S7. I guess the authors wanted to show us character development and Ian becoming more open with his views (I'm tempted to say becoming a "better" LGBTQ character, but I still hope they were not that one-dimensional). But something about those stories felt less like natural development and more like Ian was desperately trying to hold onto the relationship because he lost sight of himself. It's great to experiment, but it's equally great to know what you like and stick with it. It's great to have a healthy communication about sex, but it's alright if partners just trust their instincts about each other. Ian's S6-S7 relationship were all about negotiations, and I wanted to show him coming back to a place, where he realizes it's not what he and Mick are about.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s easy to get used to the privacy, the quietness (Ian’s occasional blabbering non-withstanding – he missed him too much to complain), to having their own space. They’ve never had it before, Mickey realises, never had such a freedom.

_Mid-April, Chicago_

 

***

It’s easy to get used to the privacy, the quietness (Ian’s occasional blabbering non-withstanding – he missed him too much to complain), to having their own space. They’ve never had it before, Mickey realises, never had such a freedom. 

So, he does feel a little apprehensive and annoyed when he realises that both his brothers and Mandy are going to be visiting next weekend.

Ian, on the other hand, seems delighted and launches a welcoming campaign in true Gallagher style, planning meals, arranging sleeping places and different activities. 

It’s a lot to do and a part of Mickey is worried about his boyfriend overextending himself. But Ian’s doing well, his medication is working, the nightmares and panic attacks almost the case of the past. And, ultimately, Jonathan suggests him one day when they chat on the phone, it’s not his place to shield Ian from life, just support him if he stumbles. 

In the end it ends up being an all right (he might even say _nice_ if he used words like that) weekend. 

Mandy arrives first, tired from the road, but happy and energized. Iggy and Colin barge into the house at 2 am in the morning on Saturday, bickering about whose fault it is that they started late. Mickey thinks they are both imbeciles and they end up having a heated debate in the middle of the kitchen until Mandy tells them all off. He forgot his sister could be scary as fuck.

Svetlana comes the next morning with Yevy and spends the entire day with them. They cook a huge lunch and eat it late in the day, sitting around haphazardly put together tables in the living room (Milkoviches never had a family table as long as Mickey can recall). The conversation flows easily for most time, and despite constant bickering everyone manages to stay alive. 

For some reason Iggy and Colin start out with giving Ian a bit of a cold shoulder. Thankfully their mocking is pretty dumb and Ian seems to accept the minor insults without any complains; stops Mickey when he tries to defend him. The brunette allows it for some time, until his idiots cross the line. 

“You are awfully at home here, hmm, Gallagher?” Colin asks as Ian is bursting around the living room setting plates and for the first time during the evening, Mickey sees Ian pale slightly and clench his jaw. 

“Cut it the fuck out” He hisses at his siblings with enough venom in his voice to kill and after pouting for a bit his brothers let the matter go. 

Most of Ian’s attention though is focused on Yevgeny. His face splits into a huge grin the moment Svetlana enters the house.

“Yevy, my man!” He scoops the kid up and shows him to the little play area in the corner of the living room he set up for the day. Mickey sees his son almost every day at the Alibi, and so does Ian, but it’s the first time Svetlana brought him over after Ian came home. He sees his lover’s delight, the way he tracks Yevy’s presence in the room, the way he sneaks off to play with him at every opportunity. It reminds him so much of the time Yevgeny was just a baby and Ian was being more of a father to him than Mickey himself. And Mickey’s son seems just as fascinated with the redhead - despite the abundance of adults willing to play with him and spoil him with cuddles, the toddler’s blue eyes light up and his arms stretch forward as soon as Ian is nearby.

“Relax” Mickey whispers to Svetlana who’s watching the two like a hawk “He’s good with him. You know that”

“Good with him when he’s not crazy” His ex-wife hisses, but allows Ian to sit next to her son at the table.

Mickey can see the sorrow in Ian’s eyes when Svetlana prepares to leave later that night. He helps her pack Yevy’s things and kisses him on the head gently.

“You could sleep over” Mickey offers, but Svetlana shakes her head

“Thank you. I want to go back to my nice clean apartment”

“Hey!” Iggy protests from where he’s splayed over the sofa “I fucking renovated this dump! Well, some of it!”

“It helped” Svetlana ascends “ _Not_ much” 

“Jesus Christ” Mickey shakes his head and picks his son up while Mandy snickers behind him “Come on. I’ll make sure nobody clubs you on the head on the way home” 

 

***

The idea has been at the back of Ian’s head for a while, probably since the day he discovered Mickey’s old room barricaded with boxes and old furniture. The past weekend helps to solidify it and the next evening he ambushes Mickey.

“I was thinking about something” Ian starts with false bravado because he’s not actually sure about his idea.

“Hmm” Mickey hummus and Ian’s immediately distracted by the adorable way he’s biting his lip and furrowing his brow, trying to make sense of the shitload of paperwork that Colin brought over from New Mexico. 

“It’s about the house” He forces himself to stay on track; that gets Mickey’s attention.

“Don’t tell me you took Svetlana’s words seriously” He lifts his eyebrows “You fucking did” He shakes his head.

“No! Yes!” Ian “I mean she’s right, isn’t she? We’ve been barely using three rooms here. The rest is just a glorified storage. So, I was thinking...”

Mickey stares at him patiently and Ian bites the bullet.

“I was thinking your old room - we could turn it into a bedroom for Yevy. I mean a bedroom where he can potentially stay, child-friendly” Mickey continues to stare at him with a strange impression and Ian feels his cheek grow hot because suddenly the idea seems far-fetched and ridiculous “Not that he’s been staying here... or is planning to... But just in case. We _should_ have a bedroom for Yevgeny” He forces himself to finish strongly and clenches his jaw. 

Mickey stays silent for a moment, biting his lip unsurely.

“I thought you were going to suggest we move out” He says finally and that makes Ian’s thoughts take a 360

“Move out?” The thought never crossed his mind “No! Why?” 

It’s their house, no matter how ridiculous it sounds. It’s the place they first fucked in, where they first started living together; it’s the place that less than two months ago has become his safe heaven; it’s the place where they started to re-build their lives.

“Lots of shit happened here, man” Mickey shrugs “Some of it pretty fucked up… ”

He motions vaguely around the living room and Ian’s face grows hot for a completely different reason. _Of course_ , lots of shit happened here. Mickey got fucking raped in this room. He got beat up by his fucking asshole of the father here. He learned that Ian did a fucking porno here. 

“Do you want to move?” He offers immediately “I don’t care, honestly. As long as we live together, I don’t care”

Mickey looks at him with that quiet annoyed exasperation, which differs from the look he gives the rest of the humanity in moments like that by the underlying fondness. 

“Ian, I don’t give a fuck about where we live. So, if you want to stay and renovate the entire place, I don’t mind”

“Yeah?” Ian can’t quite hide the hope in his voice and is rewarded by an eye roll “Not the entire place. I mean the kitchen, the bedroom and the living room are fine. Just your old room. And maybe one of the guest rooms, for when Mandy visits. Or your brothers. And it would be great to clean the backyard for the summer, make a room for Yevy to play” 

“Jesus Christ” Mickey moans “How about you fix the roof and the pipes while you are at it, Army?” 

But his blue eyes are sparkling with laughter and he’s relaxed enough that he completely misses the packet of chips that Ian sends his way.

 

***

Having a project on his hands fills Ian with strange kind of energy. It scares him for a moment and he has to check several times before realising it’s normal. He still gets tired easily (fuck the fact that his body is still so fucking weak!) he doesn’t do anything outside of normal range. But just having a purpose, his own very specific purpose, fills him with happiness. 

It’s not that Mickey doesn’t share his enthusiasm, it’s that he honestly sucks at DIY. He seems more than happy to watch Ian walk around the house sweaty and without a shirt, but his personal contribution is limited to carrying around random boxes or driving to the store. And he’s got enough on his plate, anyway, with the Alibi and the truck business. 

Ian finds unexpected help in Carl, who comes back home for the spring break and somehow ends up bunking at the Milkovich house for most of the week.

He arrives on Saturday and Fiona throws a huge lunch at Patsies to welcome him home, which Ian attends together with Mickey. It’s a somewhat awkward affair - as most Gallagher events are for Ian these days - Fiona is still watching the two of them like a hawk; Debbie steers away from Mickey like she’s half convinced he’s going to kill her; and Kev and Vi are there as well, which always creates a tension about Alibi.

He’s so happy to see his little psychopath of a brother though, he barely notices any of it. Because Carl is ... Carl - calm, I don’t give a fuck attitude; apparent disregard for the fact that Ian’s lost his shit again; refusal to hide or pretty things up. He greets Mickey with a nod as if he’s just seen him yesterday; he talks with Ian like he’s Ian. 

“What was it like to live on the street?” He asks curiously

“Carl!” Debbie hisses loudly and kicks him in the shin like she used to do when she was little. Like Ian is one of the day-care kid who can’t understand when people are talking about him. 

“What?” Carl looks between the two of them “I was just asking?” 

“I don’t mind” Ian hurries to say before Debbie can rip Carl a new one and turns to his brother “It was scary as fuck, to be honest” 

He tells him a little bit about it, keeping the story light.

“I’ll tell you more later, if you want to” He promises quietly. Among the rest, Mickey already knows most of it, he doesn’t want Liam to know and the others have never asked for details. 

Carl accepts it like he accepts everything and the topic switches to more mundane things - Fiona’s building, Franny, Liam’s school and Lip’s college. 

The next day Carl shows up at the Milkovich house, dressed in the old cargo pants and t-shirt just as Ian is stripping down the walls in “Yevy’s” room. 

“You need help?” He asks with his patented bored expression and Ian can’t help the grin that splits his face.

 

***

It’s just one of the hundred questions that Carl asks Mickey. His little brother seems curiously fascinated with the ex-con. It reminds Ian of the time he first moved in with the Gallaghers and used to find Ian’s psychopath brother watching him all the time.

_“Did you really make a deal with the feds?”_

_“How did you manage to cross the border?”_

_“What’s cartel like?”_

For most part it’s the stuff that Ian already knows and asked himself (well, not _exactly_ \- he never asked Mickey if he tried dipping his dick in tequila, but then he’s pretty sure not a lot of people would come up with this question). And for most part he enjoys the way Mickey curses and grumbles at each question and still manages to answer it in a pretty entertaining way. Every once in while he would ask a question of his own - about the military, about Carl’s plans and the reasons he got out of the game. 

But this one throws Ian off his feet a little.

“What was prison like?” Carl asks one afternoon as they are sharing a six-pack of beers at the kitchen table. 

“Nothing like juvie” Mickey answers empathically and Carl nods like it makes perfect sense. Mickey talks a little bit about the gangs and the rules, comparing the systems in the terms Carl familiar with.  It seems to be enough for his brother. But it gets Ian’s head spinning. 

 

***

That night he slowly and painstakingly takes Mickey apart with his hands and mouth, over and over again, delaying his own release until Mickey’s control snaps and he flips them over and rides Ian to quick inferno-like completion. 

Afterwards, they lie in the dark, catching their breaths and Ian finally gathers the courage to ask the question that he should have asked long time ago.

“Why did you escape?” 

For several moments Mickey freezes and when he speaks his voice is almost cold.

“Why the fuck do you think anyone escapes, Gallagher? Because I couldn’t take it anymore. Haven’t we already discussed it at some point?” 

And a part of Ian wants to hide behind this half-answer, but another bigger part wants to hear more.

“I told you what it was like for me after you got out away” He reminds him and Mickey sighs “What was it like for you?” 

“Long” He says in the end “Lonely... It was fucking lonely, man...” He swallows 

“What I told the little shit... It’s the truth; it’s nothing like juvie. In juvie you know you are getting out soon, plus/minus 30 days, who gives a shit? Fifteen fucking years...”

He tenses as if the memories are hurting him. Instinctively Ian rolls over and grabs his hand, belatedly realising that Mickey might not want it right now, not from him. His fears are unfounded - his boyfriend latches on his arm. 

“The gang wars, the politics - all this shit. That wasn’t the problem. Svetlana put me in touch with a couple of Russian mafia and when that fell through I jumped on the Mexican thing. Beating up some losers wasn’t that fun, but you know, you do what you gotta do” He shrugs and Ian accepts it. Mickey’s always been a survivor.

“Remember I made fun of you when you were in that group home? Well, it was fucking ten times worse in prison - you can’t be alone for one second. And the walls - they are just fucking crowding on you. Good thing I moved to fucking Mexico because I couldn’t sleep with windows closed for like three months afterwards”

Ian swallows, thinks about Mickey inside, going crazy, alone and desperate, without a single person at his side.

“After 6 months that I knew I wasn’t going to fucking make it. And the only thing that kept me alive was that little fantasy - well, you know...” His breath hitches

“Mexico” Ian whispers “beach, sandals, tequila” 

“You” Mickey corrects him “Who am I kidding - everything else was optional” He squeezes his hand

“So, when this little opportunity presented itself - I fucking grabbed at it with open hands” He shrugs “Ended up being lucky, managed to make it out” 

“Fuck!” He lets go of Ian’s hand and presses both palms against his eyes, rubs his face “Haven’t thought about this shit in such a long time” 

Slowly, Ian presses closer, covers Mickey’s body with his own, tries to give him all the warmth that he didn’t give when it mattered.

“I’m sorry” He whispers gently “I’m sorry I left you alone. I’m sorry I wasn’t fucking there” 

To his relief Mickey leans back into his embrace.

“I know”

 

***

Between the two of them they finish stripping and re-painting the rooms in record time and Ian leaves them to air for a couple of days.

“The fuck, man? The walls of this damp are thinner than all the paint you put on it” Mickey grumbles, but Ian just smiles. He wants to do it right, wants to make something that lasts.

Waiting for the paint to dry they start cleaning the backyard. It feels good to be outside, doing something physical even if it’s just lifting old shit up and carrying it to the garbage bin. Carl is less happy about the development. 

“Jesus!” Carl lifts something resembling remains of a bicycle “Where did all this shit come from?” He asks with a curiosity of someone who’s never shared living space with a Milkovich. 

“It dropped from the fucking sky, Jesus what do you think?” Mickey shouts back and Ian can’t help but shoot him a quick amused smile. His boyfriend is perched on back porch, a cigarette in one hand and a cup of coffee in another, observing their activity with his customary annoyance. He’s wearing a thick sweater, but he’s still shivering and by the quick glances he shoots Ian and the way he worries his lip, Ian knows he’s biting his tongue not to ask the redhead if he’s cold. It’s fucking adorable.

“How the hell do you put up with him?” Carl throws Ian’s way and he struggles not to reply with something incredibly sappy. Thankfully, Mickey’s always there to help.

“Yeah? How’s your crazy bitch doing, GI Joe?” He asks mockingly and Carl flips him off wholeheartedly. 

“Cassidy is still stalking you?” Ian asks and shoots Mickey a quick glare to get him to lay off. Carl’s expression is sad and drawn in.

“Yeah” He shrugs “She parked her car yesterday in front of the house and spent the night there” 

Mickey whistles, but stays silent.

“I’m sorry, man” Ian offers “You tried talking with her?”

“She mostly doesn’t listen, just starts screaming” Carl sighs “Frank said I found myself a Monica. A beautiful mess... Said I’m now stuck for life”

Ian swallows and shakes off the strange feeling that sets in his stomach at the mention of his mother. 

“Don’t listen to fucking Frank” He warns with more force than he intended to “He knows shit”

“So, what do I do, then?” Carl frowns

“Just keep ignoring her. She’ll go away at some point”

Mickey snorts loud enough to be heard from the porch.

“Strange, it never worked for me, hmm, tough guy? When I was trying to get rid of a certain redhead. He set up a camp at my house too”

“I was  _not_  stalking you” Ian straightens our and crosses his arms “I was visiting Mandy”

“Hmm”Mickey’s eyes sparkle with laughter and he lifts an eyebrow.

“In fact, you stalked me!” Ian continues insisting “Remember when you beat up Ned? That was stalking!” 

“That was charity!” Mickey snorts again “I was saving you from being bored to death with that geriatric” 

“Yeah?” Ian walks casually towards the house “And who exactly tried to...”

He sprints up the stairs with as much speed he can master. And maybe Mick is slow to react, maybe he just teases, but he waits until the very last moment before catapulting himself across the rail towards the ground, sending a cloud of dirt around.

“You guys suck!” Carl moans desperately as they chase each other across the yard, laughing and joking.

And Ian doesn’t think about Monica until that night, when the image of his mother pops up in his dreams, her mangled corpse falling out of the coffin and staring at him with tearful eyes.

 

***

The next night the nightmares come again. And the next.

 

 

***

On Friday, after walking together with Mickey from the Alibi, Ian lingers on the back porch claiming that he wants to have some fresh air. He doesn’t want to go back to sleep and wake up to those images in his head again. Mickey doesn’t say anything, but five minutes later he joins, throws a blanket around Ian’s shoulders, hands him a cup of coffee and drops opposite with a beer bottle in his own hand.

“I’m all right” Ian reassures him “Honestly, I’m just...” He shrugs and bites the rest of the sentence. There is no point telling Mickey to go to bed without him, so he might just save some breathe. Make Dr Foster proud.

They sit in silence for a while, Ian staring at the dark earth of the yard. Finally, Mickey gently nudged his thigh with his foot.

“It’s Monica” Ian says quietly “I keep fucking dreaming of her and I have no idea why”

“Talk with your shrink about it?” Mickey asks 

“Yeah... She thinks I need a closure or something... Don’t know what kind of closure she wants - she’s been dead for a fucking year!” 

He looks away, at the dark ground underneath them, now almost free from the junk that used to cover it. The earth is cross-cut in places, where they had to drag some heavy shit around.

“We had to dig her out, you know?” He asks redundantly because of course Mickey doesn’t know, not unless Mandy told him and he doesn’t think she would have. Based on the way Mickey freezes next to him, his suspicions true. 

“What?!” Mickey asks “The fuck do you mean?”

So, Ian tells him, about meth and the crazy fucker who promised to kill them, about their middle of the night excursion at the cemetery. Mickey listens to him silently, almost without moving.

“Jesus Christ” He mutters once Ian’s finished “You Gallaghers sure know how to do everything in the most fucked up way possible”

“Tell me about it” Ian smiles bitterly. He feels jittery, unstable, like telling the story brought everything back.

“And Fiona really hid her share of the meth in the coffin?” 

“I guess it was her version of the closure” Ian shrugs “She didn’t want any part of Monica, wanted to make it all disappear” 

“Jesus” Mickey repeats “No wonder you are having nightmares” 

And it helps a little, that Mickey - even Mickey with all his Milkovich experience - recognises how fucked up the entire thing was. 

“Yeah...” Ian looks down at his cup, focusing on the slightly chipped rim. The coffee is dark brown, almost the colour of his mother’s eyes.

“The last time I saw her I was so pissed off” He admits quietly “We were supposed to go out, she called me asking to meet up... She said something, I got angry and walked away. Never saw her alive again. She had a tumour in her head… knew it could kill her any second” 

 Mickey doesn’t offer any pleasantries, but Ian feels the warmth of his gaze on his skin.

“What would she do to piss you off?” He asks after it’s clear that Ian wouldn’t continue.

“She...” Ian pauses, tries to remember what it was that sparkled his annoyance at the time “Nothing, really. I was with Tre...” He stops, shoots Mickey a quick glance. 

“The boyfriend” The brunette says and if there is a bit of annoyance in his voice, there is no resentment.

“The boyfriend” Ian confirms “There was some misunderstanding and I was on edge and Monica was acting all happy and I just... I just blew off” His voice comes through shaky and he squeezes the cup in his hands to get himself under control.

“Fuck” He throws his head back, stares at the sky. It’s a clear night and he can almost make out some stars. That reminds him of something else, another night, different place, long time ago. A sudden realisation dawns on him.

“It was not about what she did that night” He keeps staring up, doesn’t want to meet Mickey’s eyes “I was pissed off because she was so... happy. She behaved as if everything was normal, right with the world. As if the last time we met before that she didn’t...”

He hears Mickey shuffle, but doesn’t look at him; can’t, not now. They both know what last time Ian is talking about.

“I’m sorry” Ian says after the silence becomes uncomfortable “I’m fucking pathetic - blaming her for the shit that was all my doing” He lets out a bitter laugh “Let’s go...”

“Why did you leave with her?” Mickey asks suddenly and Ian swallows. They talked about the break up, but Ian never explained the role his mother played in it. 

“Before the army took you away, I thought... I thought we had it down, you know? That we were in each other’s corner. And then you called her and left” 

Ian closes his eyes momentarily. He doesn’t want to go there; has had enough of it in therapy. But on the other hand, doesn’t Mickey deserve to know?

“Remember when you all came to give testimony on my behaviour to the army? Everybody was looking at me like I was… this big fucking problem… a stranger…and the stuff they said it made me feel so shitty…”

“We were just trying to get you out of there, man” Mickey whispers and Ian nods.

“I know… But back then… I felt like I could not face any of you without reminding what kind of shit I put you through… the only person I could think of who wouldn’t look at me like that was Monica. And I called her…”

“And she came. And she looked at me with such affection, Mick” he swallows “Like she loved me, like I was worth loving. And it did not hurt her, did not make her sad. Because she was just like me”

“She said that I should be free. Should be with someone who will love me for who I am”

He feels Mickey inhale sharply next to him and for the first time in a long time Ian sees the hurt in his eyes.

 “And I believed that she was the only person who could…” He looks up again, tears pulling in his eyes “So, I left with her”

“She showed me her _freedom_ … We hitchhiked to Tennessee to meet with her teenage meth-dealer boyfriend. Yeah, that kind of shit” He confirms when he feels Mickey pause with the bottle halfway to his lips “Trailer, middle of nowhere”

 “I think she was manic or something... She was chatty, happy, got us food and rides. Kept remembering all the crazy things she did when I was a kid like it was great fun.

“I was miserable. The only thing I wanted was to get home” He forces himself to look at Mickey, who is watching him patiently “To get back to you”

Mickey tense posture softens and Ian reaches out to put a hand on his knee.

“But the only thing that I kept thinking about was that I’m just like her now. And one night I was lying on the ground, listening to Monica and the fucker go at it” He explains “And you called me for the fucking 100th time and I realised... You’ll never give up. You’ll keep searching for the Ian you thought you knew. You’ll try loving me even if I’m like that - a crazy fucking mess, screwing up everyone’s life, thinking it’s fucking fun”

 “You didn’t want me to love the “bipolar” you?” Mickey finishes, probably remembering the words that Ian threw his way during their first meeting at the Alibi.

“Yeah… and I thought… that I’ll destroy you... Like Monica destroyed us...And I didn’t fucking want it, Mickey”

“The only fucking way you can destroy me is by leaving, Ian” Mickey says with raw openness that is so rare from him even now.

“I know” He smiles “I know it now. You and Dr Foster have beat it in my skull enough. And I’ll never doubt it again.” 

“But back then I believed her” He repeats “And I hated her for making me believe”

 “And then she came back, full of life and happiness, while I was this fucked up mess even if I didn’t realise it” He admits “That evening I hated her”

Mickey’s hand covers his own and he takes a relieved breath. 

“And then she died and I... I missed her, Mick” A hysterical laugh bubbles in his throat “She was never there, she screwed me over, she planted these fucking stupid thoughts in my mind. And I fucking miss her...”

He has to stop at this point, to keep breathing, to keep himself from hyperventilating. He feels like he’s just vomited - lighter but with a bitter aftertaste of acid. Mickey’s hand is now drawing circles on top of his. 

“When I was in Mexico” The ex-con says quietly “There was this moment when I got really screwed up about you. I couldn’t get you out of my mind, couldn’t move on, couldn’t fucking do anything. I asked Jonathan how I can forget you” 

Ian can’t help the flinch, knows it’s unfair, that Mickey has every right in the world to try to forget him. But his hearts not logical and the thought feels him with dread.

“And, of course, I fucking realised that I can’t, will never be able to. Not unless I gorged my brain out with a spoon” He takes another swing of beer.

“And then one night Regina, she said something - she said that I didn’t have to fucking forget you or stop loving you to be able to live my life”

And the first thought Ian has is to send Regina, who he’s never met, a huge basket of flowers, because if her words stopped Mickey from giving up on him, he’ll never be able to express his gratitude enough. But he also knows it’s not why Mickey told him the story. It’s probably the first time ever when comparison with Monica doesn’t make him resentful; it’s fair after all. And a part of him wants to protest that he’s not that generous, that kind - that he’s not able to forgive Monica the way Mickey forgave him. That there is no way these feelings - love for his fucked-up mother and resentment - can co-exist inside him. 

And then he thinks about Monica, about missing her; closes his eyes and remembers her smell and the touch of her hands, her warm eyes and gentle smile. A sob raises somewhere deep inside him, then another and another and suddenly he can’t stop; tries to wipe the tears off his face and realises that he can’t.

“Shh” Mickey shuffles next to him and draws him in his arms “That’s it... let it go, tough guy, let it fucking go”

 

***

Slowly, over the next couple of days, Ian’s nightmares disappear, his mind calms and he relaxes. The day before Carl leaves back to school he borrows Mickey’s car and drives his youngest brothers to the furniture store, where Liam proudly helps him to pick up a new bed and wardrobe for Yevy’s bedroom and Carl puts his muscles to use carrying stuff around.

It’s up to him and Mickey to assemble the pieces and the brunette helps him out, albeit grumbling and arguing along the way. Ian just laughs at his grumpiness, he’s too happy and proud with the end result to mind. He knows it might be a long time before Yevy has a chance to use the room; before Svetlana allows something like. He wows that it will happen one day. 

He basically skips around the house for the rest of the day and pulls Mickey in the shower to reward him for his patience with a blowjob.

 

***

The feeling of accomplishment stays with him for the next week. 

One day, on his way from Patsies to the Alibi he drops by the Gallagher house and picks up his old EMT books, spends an evening leading throw the familiar pages and notes. His heart beats wild, but there is no dilapidation panic and despair when he thinks about being back on the rig. 

Next day he calls Rita and tells her he’s ready to try again.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I'm this chapter is all over the place. I meant it as a light fluff (because the next one is a bit heavy), but then a couple of topics came up and it ended up quite serious. Oh, well, at least the boys always have each other to support them.
> 
> Other thoughts (I'm chatty today!)
> 
> a) The part with Ian creating a room for Yevy just popped into my mind at some point :) For some reason it's my favourite part of the chapter
> 
> b) Carl! I with I had more space for him in my head, because I live him. A while ago there was an amazing story here (which was unfortunately discontinued after 5 chapters and is now deleted) called "With Nothing on my tongue" I think. It's a post S7 fix-it and Carl featured a lot. It also had the most heartbreaking Ian's scenes I've ever read! 
> 
> c) Ian and Monica... I love their scenes at the end of S5 because they are so terribly heartbreaking. I'm 100% happy with how this part of the chapter went and tried to re-write it several times. Let me know what you think and what was your take/interpretation on what was happening in Ian's head at the time.
> 
> SPOILERS S9
> 
>  
> 
> d) I keep telling myself to stay away from S9 until I finish posting, but I could not resist. I saw this clip on YouTube "The Cost of Being a Gallagher’ Ep. 1 Official Clip | Shameless | Season 9" and I have WORDS. While I love Fiona's stance WHY is nobody else cares that Ian's in jail. Granted they basically screwed up his character in S8, but still...


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian knows it was bound to happen one day, but he is still shocked when he sees Caleb at the EMT centre.

_Chicago, end of April_

 

***

Ian knows it was bound to happen one day, but he is still shocked when he sees Caleb at the EMT centre. 

 

***

It’s been a shitty couple of days. Maybe he overdid it with the way he just dived back into physical training and studying to re-take his EMT exam. Maybe it’s the miserable grey weather that hangs over Chicago, maybe it’s just bad luck. He’s not exactly in a downswing, but he feels jittery, stressed, pulled thin. 

A part of him wants to hide in the house or in some quiet corner in the Alibi and just wait it out. But he forces himself to keep moving. He needs to pick up new test material at the centre so this is what he goes to do. Mickey doesn’t stop him, just offers to drive him there and Ian’s been trying to balance his stubbornness with rationality, so he agrees. 

He's just finished his business and is heading towards the car when he hears someone calling his name and turns around. His heart skips when he sees the black firefighter heading his way. 

He’s already feeling like shit. And the last time he run into Caleb by accident... He doesn’t want to think about it...

 

***

It was towards the end of his 2nd week at the hotel. He already fell into routine of finding johns; got used to the disgusted looks the bartender was giving him; got used to not looking into the mirror. He thought that he reached a limit on humiliation. And then he saw a familiar face at the table of well-dressed gentlemen and realized that humiliation never ends. 

 

***

”Ian?” 

He resists the urge to grab Mickey and run before the encounter happens, but he’s got too much pride for that. 

The ex-con must have felt his tension though because he straitens up from leaning against the car door and comes to stand next to him. At any other time, the gesture alone would be enough to make Ian feel safer and stronger, but not now, not here. 

“Caleb” He forces himself to greet the other man amicably. The firefighter is wearing plain clothes, high designer stuff that Ian is used to seeing him in.

“Ian...” From a once over Caleb gives him Ian guesses he's not that impressed with how he looks. Ian’s still pretty thin and today he's wearing old jeans and Mick’s hoody “You look... hmm” 

“I've been on a sick leave” Ian says outright. There is no way Caleb will get to know the details on his personal file, but the rumour mill runs quick at the centre “How are you?”

“I'm good” Caleb smiles sweetly, in the way that Ian used to think was adorable

“Hi, I'm Caleb” He turns and introduces himself to Mickey “Ian and I dated for a while”

“I know” Mickey inclined his head, doesn’t take Caleb’s hand. Ian feels cold go down his spine. He's never told Mickey about Caleb, which means it must have been Mandy or Lip or anyone else in his family. 

“And you are?” Caleb presses, with the same pleasant smile, like he has a right to barge in other people’s lives. Ian resists the urge to deck him.

“Mick's my boyfriend” He says firmly 

“Oh, nice” Caleb says in a tone that implies that it's anything but “Have you been together for long?

“Fuck you care?” Mickey asks bluntly 

“Just making conversation I guess” Caleb shrugs eyeing Mickey with disdain when the latter snort

 “You went on sick leave?” He turns back to Ian with a concerned look “Nothing bad I hope? Was it your bipolar?” 

Ian feels the angry blush travel up his neck. Suddenly, he regrets ever telling Caleb about his illness. 

“Something like that” Ian doesn’t care that he’s being evasive “I'm better now. I’m coming back to the EMT soon”

“Oh, really?” Caleb looks at him “I thought maybe with your new  _occupation_  there is no need for you now? You seemed to be in... high demand”

Ian opens his mouth but no sound comes. He can't believe that Caleb went there. Mickey startles next to him and the only Ian has is "please, don't know what he’s talking about”. It crashes into him now, the horror of it all. 

“Unless your boyfriend vetoed it down” It seems Caleb isn't done

“Go fuck yourself” Mickey hisses at the same time as Ian says

“Stay out of our business”

“When we started dating your previous boyfriend was abusive” Caleb says easily as if spitting Ian's secrets is no big deal “And with your disorder and... physical talents...  pardon me for being concerned”

Ian feels Mickey freeze next to him and wants to die. More than that he wants to kill. He makes the step forward and gets in Caleb’s space. He's thin and not as impressive as he used to be but he's still tough enough to be intimidating. He feels his fists harden. For a sheer second he sees fear in Caleb’s eyes and a part of him enjoys it. He feels his muscles tightening in preparation. But suddenly there is a hand on his upper arm and Mickey pulls him back before getting into Caleb’s face.

“Ian said stay out of our business and I suggest you follow his request, fucker!”

Caleb looks between the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder and shrugs

“Bye Ian. looks like you are in safe hands”

As soon as Caleb turns and start walking away Mickey takes a step away from Ian. It hurts feeling the empty space next to him. 

“Mickey ...” Ian starts when they are sitting in the car “I...”

“Shut it, Gallagher” It’s the first time since they reunited Mickey is using this tone with him, cold, detached, angry. It cuts through Ian amplifying the guilt and shame. He doesn't try again, just keeps silent through the entire ride home. 

He's relieved when they end up in front of Milkovich house instead of Gallaghers - he would not blame Mickey for not wanting to see him. But the relief is short lived because Mickey shows no intention of going inside. He stops at the bottom of the stairs and lights a cigarette

“I have some things to do” he doesn't look at Ian “I'll see you later”

“Mickey please” Ian takes a step down towards the brunette but is stopped by the violent shake of his lover’s head

“Fucking don't” Mickey turns away and walks down the street briskly 

Ian stays on the porch for the whole 5 min before giving up. Inside the house he doesn't know what to do. Slowly he goes through the motions of unlacing his boots, shrugging off his coat, sitting on the couch. He feels kind of numb, his head light with the speed of what has happened, of how everything went from all right in the morning to totally shitty in 5 minutes, how no matter how hard he tries to make amends his past mistakes come back to haunt him. Shame burns through him. He wonders if Mickey realised what the firefighter was alluding too as his “new profession”. He doesn’t want him to, doesn’t want Mickey to see his shame and humiliation. 

And most importantly - lying to Caleb, twisting their relationships in an attempt to appeal to a new boyfriend... he doesn't know how he can come back from this, doesn't know how to explain it to Mickey or even to himself. 

Panic starts to creep onto him and he dies not know how to help it. He wants to believe that they are stronger than that, that Mickey’s love is strong enough to get him through this. But what if Mickey finally decides that this is the final straw, the one thing he couldn’t come back from? 

Suddenly he can’t just wait anymore.

 

***

The feel of the gun in his head feels good, satisfying; the sound of the gunshots loud enough to almost overwhelm the thoughts in his head. 

Almost, but not enough.

Because  _“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fucking Fuck!”_

He thought he was over it, he thought he came to peace with that part of their past. They were fucking apart for fuck sake, Ian doesn’t own him any explanations. But hearing this fucking dirty piece of shit throw Ian’s words back at him like that, words about Mickey...

He doesn’t know how to come back from this.

 

***

He shouldn’t be surprised when Ian finds him. There are not that many places on the South Side where Mick can go if he wants to hide and the abandoned building is on the top of the list. And nobody said Ian was stupid. Or lacking fucking determination. 

He doesn’t acknowledge him, because he fucking doesn’t know how to react to Ian right now. 

“Mickey” Ian’s voice drowns in the fire noise. In his peripheral vision Mickey sees the redhead take a step forward, the another, up until he’s standing a mere couple meters from the target. He shoots again, lands the bullet centre-mass. 

“Mickey?” Ian takes another step forward; his vice trembles. Mickey takes a step closer to the target and shoots again. 

“Dated him after me?” He asks as he empties. Fucking revolver! He needs to get Svetlana a proper gun to keep at the bar. 

“Yes” One word... Mickey forgot how it can hurt “I thought you... you said you know about him”

“Fucking lied” Mickey admits and starts reloading “Didn’t want the piece of shit to feel superior”

Ian startles and Mickey can see him swallow. 

“How long?” He asks against his better judgement 

“We dated for five months” Ian’s voice, dull and quiet, resonates in his ears painfully. Mickey lifts the gun quickly and shoots, the sound and vibration bringing strange satisfaction.

“How long after me, Ian?” He corrects his question, tries not to look at the redhead as he stands there silent for a couple of minutes.

“March” he whispers and Mickey grips the hand of the revolver so hard his knuckles start aching.

March...

He got put away on early November...

Ian visited him in prison in mid-January...

Four fucking months... 

Four fucking months... 

He fires. It doesn’t help. 

“After the car” Ian starts talking and a part of Mickey wants to tell him to shut up and another, masochistic part of him, wants to hear it “I went to say thank you to the firefighters that saved me. I met Caleb there. I was just looking to hook up” He says almost pleadingly “But he said he didn’t do that... one thing after another we ended up dating” 

“And was he a perfect boyfriend?” Mickey can’t keep the venom out of his voice. 

“Mickey...” Ian takes a step forward to him, then another; stops when he feels Mickey stiffen.

“No, he wasn’t” Ian says “He used me to pull one over on his exes. We barely had anything in common except EMT. We broke up because he cheated on me with a woman and said that it doesn’t count” 

Maybe it should make Mickey feel better, that his replacement ended up being an asshole. But it fucking doesn’t. His insides are burning from rage and he suddenly can’t see the target for the fog in his eyes. He fires anyway; reloads again slowly.

“Still he was an improvement on your last one, huh?” He murmurs and Ian freezes.

“Mickey... I didn’t mean to say these things to him...” Ian starts

“Bullshit!” Mickey shouts and finally looks at the redhead. Ian’s eyes are teary and he’s sickly pale.

“What else did you tell him?” Mickey asks coldly “What else did you tell him, Gallagher? Did you tell him how I nearly killed your farther? How I pretended you didn’t exist? How I fucked some random girls? Did you tell him how I almost broke your cheekbone? How I had a kid with someone else?” Ian stares at him silently. Mickey swallows, feels tears fill in his own eyes.

“Did you tell him that I came out for you? Did you tell him how we lived together? How I tried taking care of you? How I loved you despite everything? Did you?” 

Ian swallows, once, twice, opens his mouth to close it again. 

“Fuck!!!” Mickey whirls back, lifts the gun and empties the entire magazine in the target, quick, no precision, pure rage flowing out “Fuck!!!” 

He turns around and throws the now useless gun against the column, watches the metal bounce off the concrete and shatter on the ground. He paces around in a circle, anger disappearing, replaced with dull terrible pain. 

“I’m sorry” Ian whispers behind him; doesn’t try to come closer “I’m sorry” 

 

 

***

“I cheated on you once” Mickey turns around and watches Ian stagger back as if he hit him. It should make him feel better too. It doesn’t. 

“After you disappeared with Monica” He forces himself to continue “I tried fucking some random girl and when it didn’t work I went and hooked up with some dude at a park”

Ian stands still while he talks as if he’s accepting a punishment; his jaws are squeezed tight.

“It doesn’t count” He mutters, lips barely moving “You thought I left you, I wasn’t answering your calls... You had every right to...”

“Really?” Mickey interrupts him sharply “Because it sure as hell _felt_ like cheating to me!” 

“There was this guy in Mexico” He continues, tries to ignore tears pulling in Ian’s eyes “We hit it off pretty well, had great sex” He shakes his head “Felt like cheating too. Fucking _hilarious_ , considering we were over for years at that point” 

“Mickey, I’m so ...”

“Shut up!” He shouts “Just shut up”

 “I don’t give a fuck about who you fucked. Fuck, maybe I even don’t care who you  _dated_ ”

Which is both true and untrue at the same time. 

“But you telling this... fucker. This arrogant piece of shit who just spurred your private secrets to a fucking stranger in five minutes. Who threw dancing at a strip club back into your face...”

He has to pause to take a shaky breath because even in all his fury the thought of someone treating Ian like that...

“You telling him this shit about us... “ He hates the tremble in his voice “About how we were... I was fucking dreaming of you, while you were telling your boyfriend about how fucked up we are!” 

“I didn’t mean it!” Ian steps forward pleasingly “I swear, Mickey, this is not what I think, not how I see us”

That somehow makes Mickey more furious and he throws his arms in the air. 

“Then why the fuck did you tell him that?!”

“Because I am a fucking coward!!” Ian shouts “Ok?! I’m a fucking coward!! Satisfied?”

“I woke up to life after that burning car and realised that my entire world was in fucking ruin. That I’ve lost everything that fucking mattered - my identity, my dreams, you...”

“Well, you recovered quickly” Mickey throws bitterly “Got yourself a shiny new life and a nice proper boyfriend!” 

“I didn’t! I didn’t recover!” Ian shakes his head “Yes, I met Caleb and he was cute and nice and he was interested. And I fucking felt nothing, ok?!” 

“He was doing all this stuff that  _normal_  people do - take me out to dinner, hold my hand, kiss me in public, give me a fucking lunchbox with sweet notes. And the most I felt was “ _it’s nice”._  

“He was doing all these things and I couldn’t get half as excited as when you flipped me off!” Ian’s face breaks into an ugly grimace 

 “But you weren’t there, ok? You were locked away for 15 fucking years and I knew that if I kept thinking about you...” He swallows “I couldn’t face the reality that nothing will ever make me feel like you do.” 

“So, I decided that I’ll train myself, you know? I’ll train myself to enjoy “normal” things” He swallows “That day, when I told Caleb about us I tried to explain why I was so shit at talking about some things. Because, you know, I never had to with you; you would just... get me. There were so many things I took for granted...”

“But he jumped on the abusive part and I didn’t correct him. Because, it felt simpler that way. Felt simpler just to pretend like what we had wasn’t right, was a one off. That it shouldn’t be like that... That’s how I survived, Mickey. By fucking reinventing the past, so that my future didn’t seem so miserable. And after a while, it became easy. Easy to pretend that lunch boxes meant care, and dates meant passion, and similar taste in music meant common interests, and emptiness meant stability. It was easy, so I kept pretending” 

“So, you see I was a fucking coward”

Ian let’s out a shaky breath. There are tears in his eyes, and shame and guilt. And a part of Mickey gets it... really gets what Ian was going through. But another...

“You know what I was doing while you were re-inventing the past?” He asks, doesn’t recognize his own voice.

“I was dreaming of you... Every fucking day. Every day, Ian”

Ian’s swallows again.

“Do you hate me?” He asks, same question he did all those months ago when they first so each other after “Do you hate me for this?” 

And just like then Mickey can’t help but shake his head.

“I fucking  _love_  you, man” Somehow saying it makes him feel better “I can never hate you. You are under my fucking skin” 

“And I love you!” Ian steps towards him, closer, less than three feet away “And I’m so grateful you didn’t give up on us. Because if you did I would have been fucking lost forever”

“And I’m sorry. Mickey, you’ve got to know how fucking sorry I am. I’ll be telling it to you every day for the rest of our lives”

“Because I’m here now, ok? I’m done being a coward. I love you”

“I know” Mickey whispers, feeling drained and empty, but a little calmer; a little less like he’s entire world was tipping over. 

“Please, come home with me” Ian begs “I don’t care if you don’t speak with me for a week, if you shout or break things, just please, come home with me” 

“I can’t” Mickey says honestly, adds when he sees Ian pale “Not right now. Not yet”

He turns and walks away.

 

***

Ian doesn’t remember getting back home, his head clouded with a mix of despair and hope; shame and old guilt; anger at what happened and strange relief that Mickey finally knew the full extent of his betrayal. 

He sits down on the sofa and waits. 

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, can’t remember when it happens. But suddenly he startles awake; it’s dark outside, dark in the entire house. Mickey is standing next to the sofa. 

“Mickey?” He calls out hopefully and the ex-con moves. 

“Come on” Mickey says quietly “wake up, man, I want to show you something”

“What?” But of course, he’s already on his feet, ready to follow Mickey wherever he goes.

“Take the fucking coat” The older man grumbles “It’s still fucking cold” 

Ian grabs his coat and follows Mickey through the laboring if familiar streets and alleyways. It takes him awhile to understand where they are going and when he does his heart stammers.

The fence around the baseball field is still rickety and shaky and it takes them less than a minute to climb inside. Mickey leads them straight to what Ian thinks off as “their” spot. Last time they were here Mickey offered him a chance at life together. And Ian was a coward enough to hesitate. 

Somehow, a can of beer and a knife appear from Mickeys pocket and they share the customary drink. The cold liquid burns it’s way to Ian’s stomach - he’s barely drunk anything in the last couple of months. Just being here fills him with so much elation and happiness, that he has to remind himself that things are not yet all right.

Mickeys eyes are dark as he throws now mostly empty can to the ground and reaches to Ian. They kiss brutally, tongues battling, bodies pressing together, breaths mingling.

“Mickey?” Ian whispers after they break apart. Because he has to know what it all means, if there is some kind of end that’s looming over him. The brunette pulls away a little, takes a step back. 

“This is us, man” Mickey says very quietly “This is who we’ve always been, who we are”

“Not fucking lunch boxes or wedding dates or cute notes. I might hold your hand in public and we might talk about shit and we even fucking live together. But  _this_  is us” 

He stares at him like he’s trying to look into his very soul. Ian’s mouth goes dry. Because he understands. It’s never been about Caleb or Ian being with someone else. It’s this - the fear that Ian didn’t feel the same way, didn’t love the way their relationship worked, didn’t miss this - the magic that neither of them could ever explain properly.

“I know” he pleads “Mickey, I know! I don’t care about all this shit, ok? I pretended to and it drove me insane”

“This... you... we are different and I  _love_  it. We are passion and fists and curses. We are... bloody coming outs and strange families and hook ups in the dirty dugout. We take care of each other, sickness, health, all this shit. We are  _family_. I always knew it” 

He can’t bear the thought of Mickey thinking he was alone missing them.

“And I missed this. I missed you, us. So, fucking much. Tried to forget it, but never-never could”

He presses closer to the brunette, their arms clutching at each other almost painfully. He can feel Mickey’s rapid breaths on his neck, can see his eyes sparkling in the dark.

“I promise, never again” He whispers 

And apparently that’s enough, because the next moment Mickey surges up to capture his mouth. 

“Under my fucking skin, Gallagher…” The brunette says simply when they break apart.

And it’s a good thing that they took the coats because the ground is fucking hard and cold. The wind blows over their naked skin.

There is nowhere, nowhere in the world Ian would rather be. 

 

***

It should feel surreal to Ian, being here, in the same place, with the same boy he has been passionately, stupidly, desperately in love with since he was 15 years old. 

It should feel surreal the way his heart soars and his fingers tremble as they fumble with each other’s clothes, shirts off, trousers down, bare minimum actions.

It should feel surreal, the way he slips into Mickey, barely any prep, because they don’t fucking care right now; the short rapid movements of their bodies together; the way their fingers interlock on the net, the way their mouths hungrily latch on each other, awkward position, no finesse in their kiss. 

It should be surreal the way something inside Ian bursts into a thousand tiny fireworks and at the same time settles so peacefully, like he’s finally came home. 

It feels more real and right than anything he’s done in the two years of his life he lived without Mickey. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already mentioned that I hate Caleb and think he's relationship with Ian were wrong for a number of reasons, first of which is that it was used to ruin memories of Mickey. The entire principle of Caleb teaching Ian what "normal" relationship is was quite sickening in my opinion. 
> 
> And I think that this is the part that would hurt Mickey the most, not the dating, not even that it happened so soon, but the fact that Ian didn't seem to appreciate their painful, but so very much honest history. I hope I managed to get his thoughts across well. Not so sure about Ian - it was hard to try and guess at his reasoning, but I did my best :)


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr Foster suggests during their session that, heartache aside, meeting Caleb might have been actually a blessing. An opportunity to get something that’s Ian’s been agonizing about for a long time out in the open. 
> 
> Reluctantly (he still would like to kick his ex-boyfriend in the face) Ian agrees. He almost forgets about the reason he was so shocked to see Caleb in the first place.

_Late April_

 

***

Maybe by contrast with the stress and fear of that day, the following week ends up downright boring. 

Ian works and studies. Mickey goes to the Alibi every day. They spend every free moment together. 

Dr Foster suggests during their session that, heartache aside, meeting Caleb might have been actually a blessing. An opportunity to get something that’s Ian’s been agonizing about for a long time out in the open. 

Reluctantly (he still would like to kick his ex-boyfriend in the face) Ian agrees. He almost forgets about the reason he was so shocked to see Caleb in the first place.

 

***

Mandy’s band finally makes it to Chicago the first weekend of May for a couple of performances that Mandy proudly invites them to attend.

The night before she brings “the boys” as she calls them - three shy guys from what Ian gathers are other cities’ versions of the South Side - to the Alibi. 

Ian likes them immediately, mostly because they clearly adore Mandy and think she was sent to them by angels to organize their lives. 

Mickey thinks they are a bunch of pussies, but mostly manages to keep his opinion to himself. 

 

***

“Wow! This so great!” Debbie exclaims as soon as they enter the club. His little sister is dressed in a red mini, glittery top and high heeled boots. For a moment he feels confused - who is this beautiful girl and what has she done with his little shy sister? 

He invites Debbie to the concert as a sort of apology. Out of all of his siblings he probably manages to spend the least time with her. She’s always busy, always running around with Franny or her friends or hanging around Fiona full of weird passive-aggressive dynamic. And Ian knows she’s still awkward around Mickey; and a part of him thinks that she damn well should be awkward. But a bigger part, a part that still thinks of her as a little sweet girl, stomps on the feeling.

Seeing a delighted expression on her face as she sits right next to the stage in a crowded bar and taps her foot to the music excitedly - he would give everything to keep it there.

 

***

Mickey tolerates the “fucking noise” and the crowd as long as he can and then sneaks out for a “smoke”. Ian knows that he won’t come back for at least half an hour until his ears stop bleeding. He contemplates following him for a moment, but he actually likes the music. 

“Ian!” Debbie runs to him “Come on! Dance with me!”

Her enthusiasm is catching and before he knows it Ian’s out on the floor, his body twisting and turning in an instinctive way. Debbie twirls next to him, her hair flying around, sweat glistening on her forehead, eyes half closed in bliss. At some point Ian catches her arm and bends her backwards. His sister bursts out laughing and they spin around several times. 

“Shit!” She straightens up and shoots him a slightly jealous look. He could never quite figure out where her jealous streak came from “I wish I could dance like you”

“You are a great dancer, Debs!” He shouts in her ear. 

“Bullshit!” She shrugs “I can move just fine, but you are like a professional! And you are hot! Look at that guy at 9 o’clock!” She motions behind his back “he’s so checking you out!”

Almost without meaning Ian looks back, his gaze crossing with that of a guy near the bar. Well-preserved early fifties, expensive suit, a glass of whisky in his hand, an appreciative look in his eyes. Evaluating. Sizing up the price. 

Ian turns away, his heart suddenly stammering, a bile raising in his throat.

_“You seem to be ... in high demand”_ _Caleb said_

_“Your physical talents”_

“I’m going to grab some water, Debs!” He shouts to his sister and she nods absent-mindedly, her body already following a new tune.

Ian stumbles back to the table, his breath coming short and his forehead suddenly clammy. 

“You all right?” Mandy asks him and he nods tersely “Too loud?” 

Ian shakes his head unable to explain the sudden discomfort that engulfs his entire being. It’s coming out of fucking nowhere! He’s been in clubs and bars a good dozen time since September; he fucking danced again; picked up random strangers. Does it feel different without the buzz of mania under his skin?

As soon as Mickey comes back he pulls him towards the bathroom, and locks them in one of the stalls. 

“Fuck!” His boyfriend hisses, back of his knees hitting the toilet while Ian’s mouth descends onto his. He answers just as hungrily, teeth scrapping at Ian’s lips, fingers digging into the flesh of Ian’s skin.

It’s so wonderfully familiar, his touch and smell and feel that Ian feels himself calming down, coming back into himself; his skin stops crawling and his nerves settle. He slows down the kisses and relaxes his grip until he’s mostly just standing against Mickey, touching from head to toes. As if sensing his changing mood Mickey stops moving too.

“Need to take you to fucking concerts more often, hmm, Firecrotch?” Mickey grins against his lips.

Someone bangs the door of the next stall loudly. Ian suddenly realises that they are standing in a dirty bathroom of some dive bar with a couple hundred people outside. And not that he and Mickey ever gave a damn about where to fuck, but right now... he doesn’t want it like that. 

“Sorry” Ian whispers and pulls away slightly “Can we...?”

He feels guilty because he can already feel Mickey semi-hard dick pressing against his leg and it seems stupid to back out of something that he’s initiated himself. He brings their foreheads together.

“I’ll make it up to you, promise”

Mickey looks him up and down slowly; licks his lips, puffy from their kisses. He doesn’t exactly pull away from Ian, but his grip relaxes and turns into something less sexual. 

“Anytime, man” 

There is a silent question in his eyes, but Ian shakes his head.

“It’s Mandy’s night” He offers “We shouldn’t miss it” 

Mickey lifts an eyebrow. He probably guesses that’s not the real reason, but Ian knows he’d never press. 

“Then what the fuck are we waiting for?” He nudges Ian in the side and allows the redhead to lead the way out of the bathroom.

 

***

Ian insists they stay at the bar until the very end of the performance. They stumble into the Milkovich house half dead around 3 am and Ian feels like he’s going to drop any second. It’s all worth it though to see the brilliant tired smile on Mandy’s face as she kisses him on the cheek and heads to bed. 

Debbie flops on the sofa, with the clear intention to crash for the night.

“Debs” Ian touches her lightly “Debs, what about Franny? Do you need to pick her up in the morning?” 

“Fiona is looking after her until midday tomorrow” His sister mumbles and immediately falls asleep. Gently, Ian takes off her shoes and jacket; covers her with a blanket. 

Mickey’s hand grips his shoulder and steers him away.

“Come to bed, man. You are fucking done” 

 

***

His alarm rings at 8 am indicating that he should take his meds. He barely manages to open one eye, eyelids feeling like lead. His head is splitting in half despite the fact that he has not been drinking anything the night before.  Blindly he reaches out to his phone. 

“Here” Mickey hands him a granola bar, a glass of water and his pills.

“I’m fine” He mumbles after he manages to swallow the food and the meds. 

It’s not exactly true - he realises that he probably overdid it, the night before, not used to the excitement and the late hours anymore. 

But what he means is that it’s not an episode and that’s exactly how Mickey seems to understand it. 

“I know, man. We are all destroyed. Go back to sleep” He slides in next to him and the last thing Ian remembers before falling back under is Mick’s arm on his chest. 

When he wakes up next, it’s almost 11 and he’s feeling like a human being again. Mickey’s side of the bed is empty. 

Still groggy he stumbles to the living room.  The girls are on the sofa, drinking coffee. The sight comes as a strange surprise to him. He remembers the time when Mandy and Debbie were close, when his baby sister looked up to the Milkovich girl. But it’s been a long time and it seems that they are now catching up.

“And he told me he loved me and his family was so accepting, but when they learned that I was pregnant... Hey Ian!” She throws him a quick smile, clearly eager to go back to the conversation

“Hey, sleepyhead” Mandy takes a bit more time “Mickey’s changing the tires outside”

It’s a little bit embarrassing to realize she can predict his next question like that, but it’s also sweet. And Mandy’s one person in the world he never minded being embarrassed by. He nods and chuckles, his hand impulsively coming up to pat his sister’s shoulder before moving to tag at a strand of Mandy’s hair. The girls send them annoyed looks. 

“And Fiona was such a bitch to me...” Debbie continues her story and Ian leaves them be. He goes into the kitchen, pours himself some coffee and just stays still for a little bit, allowing the safety of the house, the relative quietness, the familiar routine to settle his nerves. 

Occasionally, bits and pieces of the conversation filter to him through the open door. It’s mostly Debbie’s voice, getting louder and faster as she is getting more into the story of her life in the last couple of years. It’s the first time ever she had a chance to tell it like that and she clearly enjoys being in the centre of attention. It grates a little on Ian’s nerves, the way she talks about it, about Fiona and the pressure to abort, about making it on her own. He thought she was past the resentment phase, that she realised why Fiona was so strict back then. And yet, even now he can hear the venom and blame in her voice. 

“And now she wants me to start paying rent again for myself and Franny! It’s not my fault that having a building is harder than she thought! I’m not responsible for her money problems!” 

That gets Ian’s attention and he turns towards the living room so that he can see the girls. 

“Fiona’s having problems with her building?” Mandy asks

“I don’t know! I just think that it’s unfair that she once again threatens to kick me out!”

Mandy shrugs her shoulders in sympathy.

“Remember I told you you’ll wish you didn’t grow up so quickly”

“I like being grow up” Debbie argues “I feel much more experienced now!”

“Damn, girl” Mandy shakes her head “No wonder with all the shit you pulled!” And her tone is light, teasing, but apparently her words struck the wrong way. 

Debbie pulls back and gets up.

“Oh, well, at least I didn’t abort my baby at 17 and I didn’t go around selling my body to random old dudes. Because, this is what escort services do, right, Mandy?” 

Mandy freezes with her cup halfway to her mouth, her eyes going wide. Something snaps inside Ian and he marches into the living room.

“You have no right to talk to Mandy like that, Debs!” He says bluntly at the same time as Mandy speaks up

“Don’t be a bitch” It’s no-nonsense, Milkovich tough love tone. 

“I’m not being a bitch” Debbie smiles in that fake innocent way of hers “I’m just saying the truth!”

“Well, sometimes the truth can be a bit more complicated than that!” His insides are burning with rage and hurt.

“What is so complicated about selling yourself?” Debbie shrugs dismissively “I have a baby - that I actually wanted - to raise and believe me I had offers, but I manage to use my other, you know, actual, talents to survive” 

“And I know you are all successful now” She turns to Mandy “But it doesn’t give you a right to judge me!”

“Nobody’s judging you” Mandy says calmly as if she’s talking to a child and that seems to piss off Debbie even more. She turns to Ian. 

“And, you know, you might consider being on my side, every once in a while. Unless you are too busy playing house here!”

She lets out an angry snort, grabs her coat and storms out of the house. 

“Wow!” Mandy says in her wake “Teenage rage much?”

Ian feels his face growing hot.

“Mandy I’m so sorry! She’s got no ...”

“Ian, relax” she smiles, though he can see quiet hurt in her eyes “you think I’ve never heard any of this before? She’s just a scared girl; she lashes out at everyone. I’ve been there”

He knows that it’s not that simple, but Mandy does seem calm, while he’s anything but.

“It’s not right!” He mutters  “You did everything you could to survive...”

“Ian?” Mandy’s voice changes from dismissive to concern “Are you all right?” 

“I’m fine!” He shakes his head. 

He’s not... Debbie’s words resonating in his head again and again. 

“The fuck’s happened here?” Mickey comes in from the street “Little Red just flew by me like she had forgot to shiv someone?” 

“Nothing” Ian turns away “It’s nothing” 

He can feel Mickey’s gaze on his back, but forces himself to ignore it; pours himself a coffee instead. 

“You, Gallaghers” Mickey mutters with strange fondness “I’m hitting the shower” 

Ian stays where he is, leaning against the counter, his heart beating fast. Mandy comes up to him, tears a couple of paper towels off the roll and throws them on the puddle of coffee around Ian’s cup - he didn’t know how much he spilled because of his shaking hands.

“You ever told him about September?” She asks quietly, but Ian still flinches.

“No” He swallows thickly “What for? It’s been ages. And it’s my shit, not his” 

She stares at him for a while, but he refuses to meet her gaze.

“You are still an idiot sometimes” She shakes her head. 

 

***

Mickey is woken up in the middle of the night by the fact that Ian is not by his side. During the last week, they slept like octopuses, Ian's arms all around him as if he's scared Mickey is going to run away. Mickey gets it, gets the fear, the worry, so he indulges Ian in his clinginess, in fact enjoys it even. 

But that means that his absence wakes him up now. He stretches his arm and feels how cold the other side of the bed is and is immediately overwhelmed with panic. 

“Ian” He calls scrambling out of the bed before taking a deep breath. He knows Ian is still feeling vulnerable after what happened with his fucking ex-boyfriend and that he’s been jumpy and irritable in the last couple of days since the concert. But he doesn't think he's in any danger so he forces himself to put the sweatpants on and stroll out of the bedroom calmly. 

He finds Ian in the on the sofa in the living room, curled up and smoking. The room is dark save for a street lamp’s light sipping through the window.

“The fuck are you doing, firecrotch?” He asks. He wonders if it's another stage in Ian's body adjusting to the meds, another way the illness tortures his mind. Or is it just the stress and frustration of the recent events “Can't sleep?”

Ian stays silent and it takes Mickey a moment to realise he's tense and almost shaking.

”Hey!” He moves closer to the sofa “What’s up? You..”

”He was not talking about me dancing” Ian blurts suddenly, his voice ringing in the otherwise quiet room. 

“What?” Mickeys brain takes a minute to catch up, to realise something important is happening. 

“Caleb... the other day. He wasn't talking about me dancing, that’s not where he saw me”

Ian is staring right in front of him. Slowly Mickey moves towards the couch and sits down on the opposite side. He's not saying a word. 

”I thought... I didn't want to tell you at first except... maybe you should know... and today at the therapy...” he pauses, swallows, looks down

”Ian” Mickey says quietly, calmly. It's not a request, it's not anything, just a rope for his lover to grab.

”Caleb saw me in the Marriott while I was hooking” Ian blurts out and that’s the last thing Mickey expects. 

 

***

He doesn’t mean to share any sordid details with Mickey. He wants to stay cool and collected and brutally honest; tell Mickey the facts, not to bring his pain or shame to the story. But as soon as he starts talking, all of it just starts pouring out of him, more details than he shared with his therapist or Mandy, more than he admitted remembering himself. Mickey listens, without any interruptions and Ian feels his walls crumbling, feels himself laying open in front of Mick. He doesn't want to hide, doesn't want to be strong, doesn't want the secrets. He wants to have it, someone who knows him inside out, his fears and sins and horrors. Who knows and accepts and doesn't let go. 

 

***

Mickey’s angry, he's so fucking  _angry_. He can’t remember the last time felt rage like that. His eyes sting and he has to bite hard on his lip to keep himself from... From blowing up, tearing down the entire house, putting a hundred bullets in someone. 

He hates them... He hates them all.  Fuck the unnamed viagroids who used Ian like that, fuck life for forcing Ian to take this step to help his family, fuck his fucking  _family_  for drawing him in their mess once again and not even realising how much he had to sacrifice, fuck that douchebag for using something like that against Ian. 

The rage is strong.

But relief is stronger. 

Because he’s so fucking grateful that despite all of this shit Ian was strong enough to survive, to power through. He’s so fucking grateful that his redhead is now safe and right here, where Mickey has the power to help him. Where he can touch him, love him, ground him. That all this pain is in the past and he will literally destroy anyone who would try to hurt Ian again. 

So, when Ian’s done talking, Mickey slides along the sofa seat and pulls himself on top of Ian, knees on both sides of his thighs. He palms his face and says simply:

“I have no idea how you survive all the shit that falls into your lap, Gallagher. But I’m fucking grateful that you are so strong” 

Ian snorts and turns away even though his hands clutch at Mickey’s side 

“Yeah, some kind of a strong, sucking cock and fucking guys for money while on drugs. Just like Monica”

“Hello” Mickey pulls him back “a former pimp here, the mother of my kid used to a be a handjob whore and my sister worked as an escort. No room for judgement here, you know” He lifts his eyebrows, but doesn’t force Ian to meet his gaze, not now “And what the fuck does your mother have to do with it?”

“She used to do it” Ian shrugs “She would do it occasionally. Small things, a ride, a dinner, 20 bucks. I always thought it was the decease, but it's not. Even when she was stable she could do it. And apparently so could I, only I went for bigger bucks. Full service”

“Yeah? That's the difference you are seeing? Because the difference that I’m seeing is that your mother blew strangers so that she could have things easy. What you did was for your family!” Ian’s jaw trembles.

“So yes, you are a fucking survivor. How else would you be able to make this money in that short period of time, hmm? By dancing? Can't believe your family fell for it!”

Ian shoots him a quick glance, hopeful and Mickey uses an opportunity to wrap his arms around Ian’s shoulders tighter.

“I am a pretty good liar when I need to be” Ian shrugs, but Mickey doesn't quite believe it. He thinks Ian's family just chose to ignore everything because he offered them a nice neat solution. 

There is more he wants to say, things like “ _It doesn’t have to be you_ ”, “ _Don’t you dare think your life is less valuable than your fucking siblings_ ”. But he knows how these things will come across - an accusation; like Ian could have made a different choice. Not the point. The point is, Ian will never have to make a decision like that on his own again. Because Mickey’s not going anywhere. 

He focuses on something else, instead. 

“And then there is fucking fact that you recognized you were getting worse and got yourself help” He continues 

“Now you sound like Dr Foster” The thought at least brings a smile on Ian's face and Mickey kicks him a little bit in the thigh

“Shut up, Firecrotch, I'm no fucking shrink” he nuzzles at Ian's throat as an apology

“Didn't last long” Ian says much quieter “Couldn’t do it again, just let everything go to hell”

“Not your fucking fault! It's never your fault, Ian! And I'm sorry about it”

And he is, he's so fucking is. Even though he knows it's not his fault, knows that he just accelerated the spiral caused by Ian's medication not working, he cannot help but feel responsible a little bit

“Not your fault either, Mick” Ian grips him harder and stares at him

And then Mickey kisses him because he can, because Ian's here with him and he's not going to allow any fucking bi-polar to take him away. Ian leans into him, still tense, still worried, Mickey gathers. 

“I'm sorry about not telling you earlier. I told Mandy" The redhead admits "When she first came home" 

"Good" Mickey nods "She would know her shit" 

"She did, she does” He swallows “She told me you wouldn't give a damn" 

“Well, she’s right. I don’t” He says and that finally makes Ian relax a little bit. He’s not sure what Ian’s expected from him as a response; why he thought it’d be a big deal for Mickey. 

“You know I don’t give a damn about  _any_  of it, right?” He frowns, watches Ian’s face carefully “Only that you are safe?”

Because Mickey did care about cheating when they were together and he did care about Calebs and Trevors when they were apart. But not this, never something like this.

By the way Ian relaxes a tiny bit more when he hears his question, Mickey guesses that there is still a bit of reassurance to be done. 

Another thought pops into his mind, the one with bitter taste. Mickey opens his mouth, then closes it. Second attempt is better.

"Any of them... any of them hurt you?" He asks quietly and feels a stab of pain when Ian turns away. 

"No" his lover says firmly "No, I promise" he says and Mickey’s pretty sure he’s lying “I didn’t like it” He admits under the ex-con scrutinizing gaze “There was this guy who wanted to top and you know...” He shrugs “But I was safe” 

Mickey believes him, but that doesn’t stop him from drawing small soothing circles on Ian’s sides.

“You... you saved me back then, did you know that?” Ian whispers after a while “I didn’t know how I was going to go back to doing it. No matter how much it hurt to get the money, it saved me” He swallows and turns away, works on controlling his emotions. 

“Ian” Mickey tags at his jaw “Look at me, tough guy” He waits until Ian does “You know this is not why I sent you money, right? It wasn't to hurt you or cut ties between us. I never wanted to do it. I just wanted to repay you for all your help. Didn't want you to be stranded. Thought it would let you know I was all right. 

“I know it” Ian admits “ _Now_. I know it now. Didn't then”

 

***

Carefully and slowly Mickey leans down and kisses him. Ian latches back at his mouth like a starving man. 

He is starving. There is this strange mix of hunger and longing inside him, relief and desperation. 

His hands drop down to squeeze Mickey’s ass possessively, his hips pressing up. For a moment, Mickey hesitates, pulls away slightly as if checking with him.

“ _Don’t pull away_ ” Ian thinks “ _Not now. Just please, not now_ ” 

He opens his mouth to ask just that, but it seems like he doesn’t need to. Because Mickey surges forward and re-captures his mouth, passionately, hungrily. Like there is nothing in this world he wants more than Ian right now. 

And Ian’s world rights itself once again. Hunger wins and so does relief. And he can’t change the past or undo things or make shit not happen to his family.

But he’s never ever going to be alone again. 

 

***

There is a fire inside him, something primal and possessive. He’s consumed both by desperate animalistic hunger and terrible, almost painful, tenderness. He wants to imprint on every millimetre of Ian’s skin, as if it can take away all the pain and despair that the redhead had to go through. 

For a second he’s worried that it’s not what Ian needs right now, that he wants gentleness or doesn’t think like anything sexual. But one glance at the desperation in Ian’s eyes and he knows that the younger man wants it. That maybe he even needs it. For Mickey to prove that he wants him, right now and here. 

And so, Mickey does. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this and the previous chapters used to be one, but then I decided to split them because each topic is important and painful for the boys and they deserve a chance to talk it through. 
> 
> Another reason is that I wanted to give Mandy a scene with Debbie - I really loved their friendship in earlier seasons and I always wondered how Mandy would react to Debbie's choices. 
> 
> On that note, yes, I'm one of the people who can barely stand Debbie, so apologies that she comes across as a kind of a bitch here. My issue with her is less about her choices because I can see how it was a clear byproduct of her environment and upbringing and totally made sense, but they way she behaves when she makes them. She's a strange mix of Lip's egocentricity without his smarts, Fiona's emotions without her kindness and Ian's stubbornness without his passion.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thing is that Ian doesn’t notice the change, maybe because it happens so gradually from one day to another.

_Chicago, mid-May_

 

***

The thing is that Ian doesn’t notice the change, maybe because it happens so gradually from one day to another. 

 

***

He’s pressed against Mickey from head to toe - his arms are around the brunette’s chest, his pelvis at the small of his back, his cock deep inside him, their legs intertwined, their hands locked over Mickey’s chest. 

He’s rocking slowly, in small, barely-there movements and he knows that the unusual pace drives his lover insane. But he doesn’t want to speed up, wants it to last forever. The feel of Mickey’s skin, his smell, the sound of his raspy breaths are so fucking tantalizing. 

He can do it now. He couldn’t before, when Mick first found him and brought him home. He couldn’t believe that there is nowhere to go, no rush; that every time isn’t the last one. He couldn’t believe that this - him and Mickey together in their own world for the night - wasn’t going anywhere. 

Now, there is no apprehension 

Mickey lets out a long moan, almost a whine; he buckles his hips to make Ian move faster, but the redhead isn’t going to be deterred. 

“Shh” He breathes into his lover’s skin and continues his slow rocking rhythm. After a moment Mickey gives up, falls in synch with him instead, his head turning to seek Ian’s lips in a sloppy awkward kiss. 

There is nowhere in the world Ian would rather be than here and now. There is nowhere he  _can_  be but here and now. He and Mick, together. 

 

***

It is thanks to Iggy that Lana first allows Ian and Mandy to take Yevy out for a walk. 

It’s Sunday and the weather’s good, the first proper warm sunny spring day in Chicago. 

Mickey is dealing with some shitty buyers that haven’t paid on time. Svetlana is busy doing an inventory in the Alibi, assisted by Iggy. Ian convinces Mandy to stop by the bar. 

Yevy looks up at him happily from his high chair when Ian opens the door to the bar. 

“We are heading to the park, can take Yevy out for a walk” He offers hopefully. Svetlana throws a distrustful glance his way. 

He and Svetlana are getting along fine (or at least he prefers to think of it that way in the absence of hammer anywhere near his head) and she doesn’t mind him being around Yevy as long as her or Mickey are there. Ian knows her concern is justified, but lately he’s been tentatively pushing to spend more time with Mickey’s son. 

“Come on, Lana, the weather’s so good!” Mandy puts on her softest smile “Just to the park and back. You want to go to the park, right Yevy?” 

“Park!” Yevgeny throws his arms in the air “Swing!” 

“I can take him myself” Svetlana frowns stubbornly “Ignaty can deal with the bar for an hour” She turns to the Milkovich brother “Watch the bar?”

“Sure” Iggy nods and then scratches his head “Where do these boxes go again?”

The annoyed despair spreads over Lana’s face and she curses in Russian. She glances between Iggy and Ian, clearly trying to decide which one of them is going to cause most damage.

“Two hours, max” She throws to Ian and Mandy with a heavy sign. 

Ian never thought he would be willing to kiss Iggy Milkovich and his idiotism.

 

***

“How come you love him so much?” Mandy asks him later when Yevy has had his fill of the swing and is socializing with other toddlers in the sand box.

The question throws Ian because he’s never thought about it before. He just...  _does_. He loves Yevy with all his heart and being allowed back in his life, after the way he ignored and tried to forget his existence for so long, is one of the greatest gifts life has given him. 

“How could I not?” He points to the laughing kid with his chin “Just look at him!” 

“He’s cute” She shrugs fondly “But, come on, you never resented him? He’s Mickey’s son. The son he’s made with another  _woman_ ” 

“That’s not his fault!” Ian squeezes his jaw. It’s Terry’s and despite the fact that the bastard has been in cold ground for a long time, he can’t help the burst of anger at just thinking about the man “I could never resent him for this”

“But how come you love him? Even Mick took a long time to start caring for him. From the very first moment you moved in you were all over him, helping and taking care” 

Ian thinks back to those first weeks in Milkovich house, when his first depressive episode passed and he returned to the world of the living to find Yevy wide awake in his little cot and Svetlana busy in the kitchen. He thinks about picking the baby up for the first time, almost on autopilot, the same way he would have picked up Liam. He remembers looking at his tiny features the first time. 

“I guess... I guess it’s because he reminds me of Mickey so much” 

Mandy snorts

 “He is! He takes after Mickey!” 

Mandy glances at the playing Yevy like she’s seeing him for the first time.

“I guess he has the same eyes...” 

“It’s not only the eyes” Ian insists “It’s the way he looks at you. Always openly, like he challenges you a little” He can’t hold off a smile of his face “And he sleeps exactly like Mickey when he’s relaxed, with his mouth slightly open. And the way he smiles...”

He catches Mandy’s laughing at him and bumps his shoulder against hers playfully.

“You just see Mickey everywhere!” She teases. 

Maybe it’s true. But it doesn’t change the fact that from the moment Yevy opened those huge blue eyes at him, Ian’s heart been lost to one more Milkovich. 

 

***

Last time around working at Patsies as a cleaner/janitor felt like a curse. Like a sign of everything that went wrong and broke in his life. 

This time he doesn’t mind so much. 

It’s a boring job, mindless and occasionally a bit disgusting, but he’s been cleaning blood off the rigs for a long time so a little grease and ketchup don’t bother him that much. 

Now, it’s just something he does for several hours every day before going spend time with his beloved boyfriend and prepare for his EMT exam re-take.

He actually enjoys being around people and keeping busy in-between his studying. He doesn’t have a lot in common with young waitresses and illegals working the kitchen, but he makes an effort to get along. Surprisingly, his non-surly attitude goes a long way in terms of tips.

Five shifts a week bring him just enough bucks to cover Dr Foster’s fees and the co-pay for the meds. Mickey refuses to take anything from him for the house, not until he’s back at EMT and earning properly. 

“You ever sent me a bill for all the money you used to bring in?” The ex-con shakes his head “We share things, right? Like couples do. The fuck are you worrying about?” 

And maybe it’s that simple. Whoever has the cash, helps the other out. Whoever has the strength to carry, does. He still makes sure to buy groceries every once in a while, but he also doesn’t feel bad when he slips the remaining hundred dollars to Debbie every once in a while, to help out with the rent that Fiona started asking for again.

Another reason he doesn’t mind working at Patsies, and actually takes on a couple of extra late evening shifts, is the fact that it allows him to hang out with his brother. Lip’s smashing college and that means he’s busy most of the time. So, Ian particularly values those evening they spend at the back of the diner, washing dishes and cleaning tables in the evening rush, joking around and talking so much like they used to do when they were young kids. At first, it’s just random banter, but slowly, it becomes easy to trust Lip with other topics, with his thoughts and hopes and fears. After a while, it becomes easy to feel like brothers.

 

***

One of the ways Mickey can track Ian’s improving health is the way physical training makes it back into his routine. Not a day passes by when Mickey doesn’t wake up to or stumble upon the delicious sight of semi-naked and sweaty redhead using the doorframe, walls and floor as work out props.

Part of it is training for his return to the EMT, another part is about the role of exercise in managing his bipolar. But Mickey would bet that even bigger part is about Ian himself, about his pride and self-respect. And Mickey might never understand what does ability to run 10K have to do with any of this, but it makes Ian feel good, so who cares. 

The downside of this personal driving force is how frustrated Ian gets at perceived setbacks and failures. He’s slowly getting back to his form, but the sad truth is that two months of poor nutrition and another month of playing with the meds are not going to be offset by a couple of months of regular training. He’s not as fast, not as strong, not as resilient. And sometimes it annoys the hell out of him.

Like right now when he’s struggling through the 50th crunch.

“Fuck!” Ian drops down on the floor and shouts angrily

“Swearing’s part of your new regime?” Mickey wonders sarcastically as he watches from his position leaning on the doorframe.

“I need to get to 100 today” Ian grits back petulantly

“Why?” Mickey shrugs “Fifty seems more enough for me. Come on, Army, let’s have a coffee” 

“Fuck off, all right?” Ian bursts - replacing frustration with aggression - and goes back to his crunches “I want to get to fucking hundred today. Otherwise I’ll never get there”

And he does look distraught and disappointed in himself, so Mickey puts away his own cup and walks towards his boyfriend; swings a leg over and kneels above Ian’s upper thighs.

“What are you doing?” Ian stares at him surprised. 

“You want to get to 100? Come on! I’ll even fucking count for you” He settles down comfortably and crosses his arms; after a second hesitation Ian starts moving. 

And, fuck, if it’s not one of the most erotic thing Mickey’s  seen in his life. Every lift of his upper body brings Ian face temptingly close to his own, brow furrowed in concentration, mouth slightly open; he can trace every clench of the powerful abdominal muscles glistening with sweat; the slight friction between his crotch and Ian’s legs sends all kind of signals straight to his dick. 

“Forty-one, forty-two...” He moves one of his palms to rest against Ian’s chest, pushes him lower “No

“Forty-eight... forty-nine... fifty...” The last words are barely out of his mouth when Ian moves faster than lightening, arms capturing Mickey’s shoulders and hips buckling up so that they end up flipped over.

“What’s that, firecrotch?” Mickey tries and fails to fake nonchalance “Another exercise?”

“More like my reward” Ian’s face splits into shit-eating grin before his lips descend onto Mickey’s. 

 

***

Ian’s not particularly surprised when Fiona asks him to stop by the old Gallagher house. He’s been trying to keep in touch as much as possible and these days she’s often too busy to chat at Patsies. Though lately she’s been making an effort and he can often see her attentive gaze on his back.

Debbie and little Franny are there as well, though he’s a bit bumped out that Liam’s nowhere to be seen.

“How are you doing?” Fiona pats him on the shoulder 

“I’m all right” It’s customary response, but it’s not untrue. He thinks lately he’s been feeling a bit more than all right. He allows a small smile to appear on his face.

“Everything’s good with Mickey?” Fiona asks and he shrugs. He’s been more open with Lip lately, but even with his brother he rarely sounds s too many details about his and Mickey’s life. It’s theirs, it’s private.

“We are good” He says simply; Fiona smiles, but there is something tense in her face. 

 “You’ve been picking up some extra shifts at Patty’s?” she asks a bit redundantly – she’s the one signing off his time sheets anyway.

“Yeah” then the thinks of something “Oh, by the way, Fi. I’m going to quit in a couple of weeks, ok? So, you can out the ads out if you need to”

“I thought your exams weren’t until mid-June?” his elder sister frowns

“Yeah, but Mickey and I are going to Mexico for a while. He needs to check on that side of the business and I thought I would tag along, meet his friends there”

He smiles shyly – he can’t wait to meet the people he heard so much about from Mickey’s stories. He knows that Mickey himself is excited to go back. At first, when the ex-con realised he needed to go back, he offered to make it a short trip, in and out. Ian wouldn’t hear about it, not when he’s the reason they’ve been stuck in Chicago for the last couple of months.

Belatedly, he realises that his sisters are telling him something.

“Are you sure, it’s a good idea?” Fiona asks. That throws him

“Why not?”

“I thought you were still going to therapy and your meds…”

“I’ve been seeing Dr Foster for months. I think I’m in a place I can skip a session or two” The conversation starts grating on his nerves.

“Are you sure your meds are working all right?” Fiona’s tone is decidedly neutral, but Ian can’t help tensing himself 

“Yeah” He nods and adds in resignation “And I’m taking them too” 

“Of course, you do” Fiona smiles, but it comes through slightly weak “It’s just, you know, they failed once before. It’s always worth keeping it in mind”

“I do” he nods

“You know, you’ve been acting weird lately?” Debbie says suddenly and  _that_  makes Ian freeze. 

“What?” He asks stunned. He hadn’t been... he absolutely sure he hadn’t been...

“We are a bit worried, Ian” Fiona says, soft and gentle “You’ve been... different in the last couple of weeks, out of character and we thought it might be good to talk to you”

“Is it an intervention?” He asks, knows that his voice must come across almost hysterical “Where is Lip? Have you called Carl?” 

“It’s not an intervention” Fiona insists “We just want to talk” 

“See, you are being paranoid” Debbie approaches from the other side “And that’s just one thing!”

“I’m not...” He’s so sure he’s not paranoid, but what if he is...? Mickey would have noticed, right? 

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s sit down and talk, ok?” 

Fiona takes his arm gently, but the only though on his mind is “ _no, no, no.._.”

 

***

When Mickey unlocks the door to the Alibi, ready to rip whoever been trying to take it down with their knocking a new one, the last thing he expects to see is Ian.

Particularly Ian with his coat unzipped, face pale, breathing coming out rapidly and eyes wide and panicked. If it wasn't for extra height and weight, he could definitely pass for the same boy who begged him on the steps of his house all those years ago. 

“Jesus, Ian, what the hell?” he drags his boyfriend inside the bar, slams the door behind them. 

“Did you fucking run here?” Because Ian continues to breath like a horse and it takes some effort to reduce him to breathlessness. He leads the redhead towards the bar because he has a suspicion that Ian could keel over at any second.

”What the fuck has happened?” he repeats. They saw each other less than 3 hours ago when Mickey left for the Alibi and the redhead’s been fine, cheery and excited. 

Ian just keeps staring and breathing and his eyes are red and when Mickey touches his shoulders he realizes he's trembling.

”Hey, hey” He palms his face “look at me! You are all right! You are all right. You gotta breathe, Ian! Breathe. Like that” Ian’s breathing slowing down “Good, good. In and out” He feels Ian's hands on his chest and makes sure his own breath is balanced “Just like that, come on”

A minute passes, maybe two, Ian's breathing calming, trembling subsiding. 

“Gonna get you a glass of water, ok?” Mickey says, but Ian's hands tighten in his shirt

“Ok, ok” he stops “I got you, tough guy, but you have to tell me what the fuck is wrong”

His head keeps painting one scenario after another - something happened with the Gallaghers, Ian saw someone who triggered some painful memories....

”I...” Ian gulps “Mickey,  am I... Mick, am I going manic?” 

And clearly saying it out loud scares the crap out of him because he starts breathing erratically again. 

That's the last thing Mickey expected to hear. He knows Ian, knows his problems and his moods intimately these days. They still do mood evaluation every other day together and Mickey believes that he would have never missed an oncoming mania episode. 

“Ok, ok, calm down” He allows his voice to get a bit more commanding “That’s all right”

“Ian” he catches his gaze - whatever it is, we'll fucking deal with it - he waits for Ian to believe him - now can you tell me why you think you are going manic? 

“I... “ Ian starts.

But he's not able to finish, because the next moment Fiona and Debbie Gallagher burst into the Alibi, little Franny in tow. With a back-thought Mickey realizes he forgot to close the door. His next thought is anger, because the last fucking thing he needs at this moment...

“Mickey” Fiona almost shouts “Mickey, we need to ...”

They freeze when they see Ian, but only for a second before Debbie runs towards him

“Ian, thanks God, I was so worried!” she clutches at him with one hand, wailing Franny in another.

“You took off so quickly, Ian!” Fiona sounds teary “We just wanted to talk” 

“The fuck’s happening?” Mickey growls and Gallagher girls turn to him

“We need to talk. Ian, it's good that you are here, please don't get angry with us” Fiona looks between them and Mickey can feel Ian stuffing in his arms. 

“I...” Ian starts “I don't...

“Please, Ian” Debbie says trying to overcome the sound of her daughter’s crying.

“Mickey, we need to talk about Ian’s state of mind” Fiona says at the same time.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP! Both of you! Now!” Mickey growls and he must look scary because they both fall silent and stare at him. Little Franny’s face freezes mid-cry. 

“Holy fuck! I have no idea what went up your ass and what your problem is, but I'm sure you are going to inform me anyway. So, let's fucking try to talk like civilized people, hmm?”

“Go sit at a fucking table, help yourself to a beer or water or a coke - whatever as long as you pay for it. Calm the kid down! Ian and I will be back soon”

Not waiting for the response, he drugs his lover in the back room and firmly closes the fire behind them. The silence feels heavenly after the racket in the bar. Fucking Gallaghers! 

“Holy fuck!” He’s angry and he wants to kick something and he wants to get out of here, but then he catches Ian's expression. The redhead is standing by the door, stiff, his arms around him and he's staring at him with that wary face like he believes Mickeys is angry and disappointed with him, not with his sisters.

“Hey” Mickey palms his face and draws their bodies together “Hey, it's fine, we are fine” Ian relaxes again against him just a tiny bit. 

“What’s all this shit about? What have you been trying to tell me?”

“They think I'm...” Ian swallows “I went to see them and they are convinced that something's wrong and... I thought I was doing well!”

“You are” Mickey confirms “We will deal with them, ok?”

“Mick, what if I'm going manic?” Ian's voice breaks “I don't want to do it to you again! I don't want to become this person again!”

“You are going to be fine. No, listen to me, you are going to be fucking fine! But I need you to be honest with me, ok? Have you been feeling different in the last couple of days? Any symptoms?”

Ian shakes his head

“I don't think so... but I never think so, Mick! I just...I'm not lying to you...“

“Shh, I know. Last week - how many hours did you sleep?”

He watches Ian think and does his own mental calculations.

“Less than the previous week... but still... I think 8-9 hours every day?” He sounds unsure and Mickey hates that he has to feel that way, that he doesn’t trust his own judgement. 

“That's right, Ian” Mickey confirms “Good 7-8 hours at night and you are still taking a nap in the afternoon every once in a while, right?” 

Ian nods

 “So you are fine on the sleep”

”You got angry with anyone on the last couple of days? 

“Hmm... Erin at Patty’s - she was being a bitch yesterday... You on Wednesday when you forgot to pick up milk”

“That's it, man? That's like two people in two days; I got pissed with ten times as many. So, I think we are down on irritability as well”

“How many times did you want to have sex with me in the last two days? 

“I...” Ian goes slightly red suddenly, which Mickey would have found adorable had they not been in this crazy mess “A lot, actually... This morning... on the run... when I got really distracted at work.. started thinking about taking a shower together” He swallows suddenly 

“I haven't thought about anyone else, Mickey, I swear...”

“You better not. I haven’t either, even though I’m apparently more horny than you are”

“Huh?” Ian looks confused for a second and Mickey bumps his forehead against his shoulder.

“For fuck sake, Ian, so you think about sex with your boyfriend 4-5 times a day. You know how often I want to fuck you?” He shrugs “You had a bit of a dry spell, you are all back in form now. Do you really think what you are feeling is abnormal?”

“No, it's... it's like I think about you all the time and I want you, but it's nothing like when I'm manic and want to fuck every minute. It's like... it's like when you got out of juvie”

“So, no hypersexuality either, check” He lets it sink

“Ian, if you are worried, we'll go see your doctor tomorrow; call Dr Foster, talk about it. But as far as I can fucking see, you are fine, you are good!”

Ian frowns his brow. 

“And I haven’t been doing anything crazy?”

“Absolutely fucking nothing. And we fucking live together. Why did your  _sisters_  think something’s wrong?” 

“I don’t know” Ian admits “It was an intervention... I panicked” He lets out a bitter laugh and rubs his face “I guess I better go and find out” 

“Or we can say fuck them and go home?” Mickey offers 

“I need to talk to them” Ian shakes his head and Mickeys is glad to see a bit of chin showing stubbornly “They won't let it go otherwise”

“Fucking Gallaghers” Mickey mutters, grabs Ian’s neck and proceeds to give him a sloppy, open mouth kiss. When they break apart, Ian’s eyes are a tiny bit less troubled than before. 

Fiona and Debbie are sitting at one of the tables, looking pissed and concerned at the same time.  The little redhead kid is not crying anymore, just sits peacefully in Debbie's arms. Mickey thinks that she might be the only normal female Gallagher right now.

“A beer, anyone? On the bar” He offers going towards the fridge, gives Ian time to decide how to play it.

“I'll take one, actually” the redhead says as he joins his siblings at the table. Mickey doesn't even lift an eyebrow. If this is how Firecrotch wants to play it, Mickeys not gonna spoil it. Ian has not really drunk since leaving the hospital and Mickey’s pretty sure he doesn't intend to drink the entire bottle, but either way, he's not going to interfere.

“Anyone else? He asks turning to them. They are looking at him as if he had grown a second head but he ignores them. Grabs another beer and goes to join the Gallaghers at the table, hands one of the bottles to Ian and sits next to him. 

“So, what the fuck is this about?” He asks once he realizes that Ian is not going to. The little redheads gaze is hard and judging, Fiona’s motherly and concern. She looks between him and Ian fir

Fiona looks between him and Ian disbelievingly and then her gaze hardens.  

“Really, Ian? Drinking on your meds?” She turns to Mickey “And you just allow it? I thought you wanted what’s best for him”

By the way Ian tenses next to him like a spring, Mickey knows that it's not his battle to fight, so he just leans slightly back and watches. 

“I think I'm capable of making my own decision, Fiona” The redhead says coldly, jaw set stubbornly “Mick is not really supposed to allow or not allow me things... And I used to drink on my meds all the time, if you forgot”

That throws Fiona slightly, makes her frown in concentration as if she’s trying to remember. Mickey bites down a curse - fucking unbelievable! 

“I don’t want to fight, Ian” Fiona says finally, voice extra calm “I just want to talk, ok?” 

“Then fucking talk” Mickey grits

“As I said I think we need to consider a possibility that you are going manic again” 

“I’m not” Ian shakes his head and Fiona sighs in frustration “Mickey doesn’t think I’m either”

Mickey nods and Fiona shoots him almost an angry gaze.

“You are not helping! You don’t know how quickly it can change! You should be watching out for him”

“Don’t Fiona!” Ian says forcefully and the strength in his voice throws her back “Mickey is watching out for me. We fucking live together - you think he doesn’t know my moods?”

“You’ve been behaving strangely later, Ian” She says stubbornly “You can’t just ignore it!”

“Strange how?” He asks and to his surprise it’s the little redhead who answers, voice perky and full of enthusiasm. 

She might be the one behind this shit, he realizes suddenly and it pisses him of because, again, who the fuck she is. 

“For starters, you drink when it's not recommended! That's a sign of irrational behavior!”

Ian tenses and Mickey finds his knee under the table and squeezes gently. Keep cool and get rid of their concerns, he silently reminds him.

Irrational, his ass! That coming from a girl who decided to get pregnant on purpose at 15 and then helped him to almost kill someone. 

“You gave me money for several weeks now! How would you get it! You are cleaning at Patty’s - you probably make less than I do! Where would you get the cash from?”

“I work, for fucks sake! Mickey and I share costs. I’ve been picking up extra shifts”

Ian grits out.

“And that what got me worried, Ian” Fiona chips in “You are awake at all hours of day, you take up shifts morning, day and night. Girl’s been telling me that you laugh and joke all the time, that you work twice as fast as before, you take shifts on short notice. You are just ... constantly upbeat!” 

And that pisses Mickey off, because who the fuck they are to...

“You mean, I’m going crazy because I’m not miserable?” Ian asks coldly and Fiona has the decency to look slightly chastened. Her sister is unstoppable, though.

“And you are fidgety!” Debbie continues, motioning to his hands

“So, I have a nervous tick” Ian shrugs “A side effect of the meds. Beats vomiting my guts out or a limp dick”

“Oh” Fiona seems taken a back and Mickey hopes she starts getting how ridiculous the entire thing is.

“What about your hyper sexuality? Mandy told me you are all over each other all the time” Debbie continues

_"Mandy needs to keep her mouth shut" thinks Mickey_

“Just checked with Mickey. I am still not banging him enough” Ian says trying for humour, but with an edge in his voice 

“That's not funny, Ian!” Debbie goes red 

“Neither is your attempts to interfere in our sexual life” Mickey notes sarcastically 

“You say it now, but what will happen when he starts cheating on everything that moves behind your back?” It’s a low blow and Mickey is furious to see it thrown back at Ian because he knows just how it hurts him. Ian's family doesn't know what he had to do to help them and he doesn't want them to. He's about to blow up, but Ian beats him to it.

“Wow” Ian says and Mickey can feel how much it costs him to remain cool “I knew I had a slut reputation, just didn't know it was among my family. I assure you, I keep my pants zipped and confess all my sins to priest on Sundays” He leans back, crosses his arms protectively over his chest.

“Anything else making you believe I’m about to fly off the handle?” He asks sounding almost bored and Mickey hates seeing him so closed off. 

“Don’t blame us for caring, Ian” Fiona pleads “You know we love you!”

Ian leg trembles where it touches Mickey’s but he remains outwardly calm. 

“I was just looking out for you, ok?!” Debbie says petulantly and turns to Mickey “And you should be grateful! We are trying to help you take care of Ian!”

“Ian can take care of himself” Mickey throws angrily, trying to deflect the heat from the redhead. But one look at Ian shows him that it’s not what he wants. 

“Like you helped him torture Sammi?” He asks coldly “And then didn’t say a word when he got arrested for attempted murder?”

“What?!” Fiona does a double take while Debbie goes pale. Mickey stays silent - it’s still not his fight even though Ian’s leveraging his story. 

“When. Mickey. Got. Arrested” Ian grits through clenched teeth “He and Debbie were trying to just teach her a lesson. And the only reason she’s not in jail is because of him. Do you know it?” He asks the girl “Do you fucking know it?”

Mickey presses his hand down on Ian’s trembling leg.

“Is it true?” Fiona turns to Debbie gaping

“I...” She doesn’t look at either man “Yeah, we were trying to teach her a lesson, but... It’s got nothing to do with now, Ian” 

She turns on him and Mickey’s give her that she’s one stubborn bitch. 

“I don't...” Finally, it seems like Fiona’s run out of stream “I don’t know what... I guess we run it out of proportions... 

“I'm sorry we panicked” Fiona says and it's wrong kind of sorry and she realizes that “We are worried and we are just so... I'm glad it's not that...  I'm sorry” She rises “Come on, Debbs”

They leave the Alibi quickly and Mickey follows them to lock the door behind. 

He breathes out, what a fucking day! Fucking Gallaghers and their overbearing, misplaced concern. The silence feels blessed now like they girls took all the chaos and conflict them. But turning around and seeing Ian he understands it's not true. The Gallaghers are gone, but they left their impact. Ian’s sitting at the table picking at the label at his beer. Mickey walks towards him, giving him space but ready to jump in any minute.

“I am very tempted to finish this one off” Ian says finally motioning with his bottle.

“Then do it” Mickey says simply. He goes to grab another bottle for himself “It’s a quiet night, I don't need to stay. Get hammered, and let's go home”

They sit in silence for some time, drinking and enjoying each other. It's one of rare moments these days when Mickey can't tell how to help Ian. There is nothing Mickey can say to make it better, nothing that Ian doesn't already know. 

“I love them” Ian says quietly

“I...” It’s a couple of false starts for Ian before he manages “I didn't expect it... I was feeling pretty all right lately... 

“Until they ambushed you with their fucking suspicions” 

“Didn't know what to say... started thinking maybe they were right... I just... they got to me”

“Fuck!!” He throws now empty bottle off the table angrily. But there’s not much force behind his push because it doesn’t break, just rolls into a corner “Why the fuck do I feel that way?!”

Ian’s voice breaks at the end and he looks  up at Mickey teary-eyed. The brunette bites back the rage and the anger at Ian’s family.

“They are your fucking family, man. Course they can get to you” He says simply. 

Gently he palms the back of Ian’s head, cards his fingers through short hair - the redhead’s back to his buzz cut these days. Slowly Ian relaxes against his touch and his head falls in the crook of Mickey’s shoulder. He inhaled deeply as if his life depends on this. Mickey 

 

***

It's a while before Ian calms down, lifts his head. He looks a bit embarrassed, and Mickey can't help trying to light the mood.

“Man, you really should not drink!” He shakes his head theatrically while squeezing the back of Ian's head to let him know he's joking “That was fucking cathartic!”

“Sorry, I usually save up all my crying for therapy” Ian says in return, lips quivering lightly, a begging gently of a smile.

“Dumbass” Mickey says affectionately. He gets up and kisses him on the head. Ian catches his wrists

“Thank you” He says simply and now it's Mickeys turn to be embarrassed.

“Stop fucking  _thanking_  me” He murmurs almost angrily

Ian lets him go with a smile; gets up slowly and picks up the bottles- evidence of his anger - from the floor and goes to put them away.

“I feel like I've been in a fight” He admits

“I would chose a fight over that lovely chit chat any day” Mickey feels pretty drained himself. He looks over the bar, sees it's ready for the night

“Want to go home? I'll have to wait for Svet otherwise she'll have my balls, but she should be here in like half an hour

“Actually...” Ian pauses, leans against the counter “Do you think... I guess not, but... 

“Spit it out, Firecrotch” Mickey’s had enough unspoken words for today. 

“Do you think Lana will let us take Yev for the night?” Ian blurts out 

“Oh...” At first Mickey’s a bit surprised but then he realizes that he shouldn’t be. Ian has always been good with Yev, has treated him as his own. It's no wonder that right now, when Ian feels slighted by his family, he feels the need to keep Yevgeny close, to get back to their old little family

“Sure” He says as nonchalantly as possible “Don’t see why not. You sure you want little monster with us all evening though?” He follows up quickly to distract Ian from all the reasons 'why not' he can recall. He's resolved to give his redhead what he needs tonight. 

Convincing Svetlana is not easy but doesn't take anywhere as much effort as he expects. When she arrives with the kid Mickey sends Ian upstairs to get him ready and says simply.

“Ian and I will take Yev tonight, so you can have whatever fun you want”

“Net” Svetlana says at first, but Mickey shakes his head

“Yes, fucking, yes. It'll be fine, will take care of him, will put him to bed on time, get back here by lunch tomorrow. 

“Carrot top not crazy?” Mickey stares her down “Yevgeny’s not all right, I kill carrot top in front of you. Slowly”

“Fuck off” Mickey says gently and goes upstairs to collect his son and his lover.

 

***

So, this is how the day ends, with them walking Yev in the park, feeding him dinner and watching movies all together on the couch. They go to bed early. Ian brings the kid to their bed despite his new shiny little bedroom and Mickey doesn’t have it in him to object. And as they lay in the dark, the kid between them, their fingers interlaced over his head, Mickey thinks it's the kind of the day that would have been shifty had it not been for great start and end. 

 

***

It helps having Yev with them for the evening. Ian holds him close, presses his little body next to him on the couch as they watch cartoons and eat pizza. Yev is a happy and relaxed child. He smiles a lot and laughs, he loves hugs. It helps to ground him for some reason, helps him to feel needed and wanted. Right now, he feels so far away from his family, so detached and deep down betrayed. He tries to turn it around, tries to see the situation from their perspective, but more than anything he wants to feel safe, the way he used to feel when he was a child and Fiona was always there for him. He doesn't know when it changed, when he stopped associating his siblings with love and home, when they stopped seeing him. 

Yev falls asleep in his arms, so warm and trusting, his quiet breath puffing against his neck. When it’s time to go to bed, Ian can't make himself give up that warmth so he takes him to their bedroom. Mickey comes in a while later, gives him a look but doesn't say anything and Ian knows he doesn't really mind. 

It's not very late, maybe 10 pm, their bedroom is dark. Yev breath is hot and puffy against his neck; his hand is touching Mickey’s where it rests on the pillow above Yevy’s head; he’s surrounded by the smell of his little resilient family. He feels safe and secure and loved. He realises he’s home.

 

*** 

The next couple of days Ian stays close to Mickey to the point that he realizes borderlines on clingy. He doesn't mean to, not consciously but his body automatically seems to just follow Mickey around, sit just a bit closer next to him on the sofa, press a little tighter to him in bed, chose to follow him around Alibi. It takes his brain half a day to catch up on what his doing and he becomes deeply embarrassed but Mickey doesn't seem to mind. He encourages the frequent touches and offers Ian to tag along wherever he goes and clutches at him tightly when they are lying in their bed at night. Slowly Ian calms down, the panic stops hitting him every other minute and he stops expecting to spiral into manic behaviour every moment. 

It helps when Lip stops by the next day to chat. He heard about what happened from Fiona and Debbie and is firmly on Ian's side. 

By the time his weekly session with Dr Foster comes up he's calm enough to talk to his therapist and work through the situation without expecting her to lock him away immediately. Their session is pretty much a repetition of his talk with Mickey at the bar and Ian tells Dr Foster as much, but she still patiently goes through his behavior and feelings and that helps to ground him in the belief that he's doing well.

“I don’t know why I believed them so quickly” he admits towards the end “I knew I was doing well, but the moment they started talking about it...” he shrugs

Dr Foster smiles at him gently, asks him why he thinks it happened. 

It taps into his own fears, he realises as they talk. His fear of failing again, of failing himself, of turning Mickey’s life to hell again, of losing this peace and calm that he has now. 

“Remember we talked about having bad days, Ian?” Dr Foster reminds him “It’s equally all right to have a good day without going manic as it is to have a bad one without becoming depressed” 

He mules this over, admits she’s right.

“Only it seems that when I have a good day - a good week - a fucking month... for others it looks like I’m a completely different person” 

And yes, there is bitterness there... resentment. 

“They are my family!” He continues “Is it such a shock for them to see me happy for once?” 

He freezes when he realises what he said. He is happy right now. Truly, beautifully, wonderfully happy. He’s loved and loves in return, he’s rebuilding his relationship with his brother, with his best friend, with his son... He’s got a goal, dreams and plans. And most importantly he feels  _himself_. 

“I’m happy” He says out loud and fuck, it sounds strange.

“I’m glad to hear it” Dr Foster smiles “But maybe it will take others a little longer to get used to it”

 

***

The thought keeps bouncing around in his head.

It's one of these days when Mickey accompanies him to therapy and when Ian sees him lounging in the chair in the waiting room he's filled with so much love and passion for the wonderful man, he could cry. 

They barely keep their hands off each other on the way home and Ian assaults his boyfriend’s mouth as soon as they step through the door. They haven't fucked since the intervention fiasco and now Ian feels all this pent-up energy just bursting through his skin. Mickey is as just eager to respond, tearing his and Ian's clothes off. They fuck fast and hard on the couch, Mickey bent over the back, their pants still around their legs. It's followed by another round on the floor. 

Mickey’s typically a bossy bottom, but he allows Ian to have complete control tonight. Ian wonders if Mickey does it unconsciously or if he knows how important it is for Ian to feel like that in bed. What it means that Mickey trusts him enough to manhandle him in a dozen positions, to tease him and drag out the prep for so long he's reduced to a mewling mess before fucking the hell out of him. What it means to be able to do it, knowing that it's something he's still good at, the sense of satisfaction and confidence it gives him. Ian thinks Mickey probably knows all of it. 

Afterwards, they lie together on a floor, limbs tangled, skin sticking together. Ian turns to Mickey, watches the relaxed expression on the brunettes face, the way his eyelashes cast shadow over his cheeks.

“I’m happy” He says quietly, but clearly. Mickey blinks and turns his head to stare at him quizzically “I’m very happy”

And he can see that Mick’s still confused so he continues.

“You make me happy. What we have. You and me together. Yevy and Mandy too. But mostly you, the way you love me. I’ve not been happy for such a long time. But I am now. I want you to know it – I’m so  _fucking_  happy because of you”

Mickey’s eyebrows lift slightly and he smiles in such an open, pleased way that Ian’s breath catches. He forgets it something, how much Mickey earns for affection. 

“You are a fucking sap, though guy” He murmurs and turns so that they are facing each other

 “You make me happy too” He whispers almost shyly against Ian’s lips before he draws him in.

 

***

He debates doing it for a long time; talks with Dr Foster, talks with Mick. In the end the decision is made easy for him because Fiona knocks on their door a couple of weeks after the intervention fiasco. 

He’s been doing a decent job of avoiding her at work, not a hard fit considering how busy Patsy gets and how much time she spends at her building. But he knows that it can’t - shouldn’t - last forever. 

“Can we talk, Ian?” she asks quietly and he lets her in, leads her to the kitchen, pours her black coffee. 

She doesn’t sit down, just wanders around the living room, looking at the small bits and pieces of their life - clothes strewn around, magazines, a pack of cigarette.

“You guys have done this place up nicely” she notes finally 

“No reason to live in a shithole if we can afford not to” He answers neutrally, doesn’t comment any further. It’s his place, his and Micks, it’s their home. They are _happy_ here.

And anyway, it’s not the reason his sister came. 

“Ian, I’m sorry” Fiona says after a while.

“For what?” He asks and she pauses a bit awkwardly. He’s making it difficult for her, he knows, but he can’t help it. 

“For thinking you were going manic” She says “I realise I took it too far and I’m so sorry for scaring your away. I just thought...”

“You thought I was pulling a Monica” He shrugs grimly and, when Fiona doesn’t deny it, shakes his head “As always”

“I _overreacted_ ” Fiona stresses and then pleads “But, Ian, I want us to be all right again”

Ian stays silent for a moment. If they were having this conversation in the old Gallagher house, he might have just accepted her apology and moved on, pretended that nothing happened. 

But he’s in his, in his and Mickey’s house; in a place where he never has to lie about being all right. He’s safe here, safe enough to be vulnerable, to be brave.

“We haven’t been all right for a long time, Fi” He shrugs “You got to know it” 

And that throws her for real and he realises that maybe she doesn’t. Maybe this conversation is difficult for her, because she didn’t expect it. But he’s tired of keeping silent.

“For fuck’s sake, you thought I was off my meds, when I actually stopped being miserable for once” he lets out a bitter laugh and Fiona looks away “I am happy, Fi, for the first time in a forever and you think I’m going crazy!”

“I know things have been tough since you came back…”

“No, not then” Ian takes a deep breath “Since I got sick. Since I turned into Monica in your eyes. Since I became the _problem_ ”

“It’s not true!” She almost shouts “It’s not what... I don’t think of you as a problem, Ian!” She swallows “I... I know I was tough with you at times. But I love you, I just want what is best for you”

“I know you do”

He does, God he does! They love each other, the Gallaghers, they do. It’s their biggest salvation and curse in life.

“I love you too” He spreads his hands a little “You and Lip and Debbie and Carl and Liam. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you guys. Especially, you, Fi. You raised us all, you sacrificed your life for us. I’ll never forget it”

“That’s why it hurt so much” He admits “To have you look at me like I wasn’t your brother anymore. I turned into mini-Monica in your eyes. And no matter how much I tried to tell you otherwise, it didn’t work”

“Don’t, Fiona!” He raises his hands “Don’t deny it, you know it’s true”

“I became the Gallagher’s problem. At first, when Mick was there, you could rely on him to take care of me. And when he was gone…”

He swallows.

“I needed you, Fi” He admits finally “I needed you back then. And not to count my meds or shout at me at work or give me ultimatums. I lost the man I loved, I pushed him away and then I lost him. I needed you to hold my hand!”

“Ian…” tears pull in Fiona’s eyes

“And I know why you did it” he continues “Course, I do. You’ve had enough playing a nurse to Monica; after all her screw ups and broken promises, tough love was the only way to go” He feels tears pulling in his own eyes

“But you see, I _didn’t_ pull all the shit that Monica had done. I _didn’t_ earn your distrust yet. Maybe I deserve a chance to be treated differently? Just for a little while?”

His voice breaks. Fiona takes a step towards him.

“I’m sorry” She whispers “You are right and I’m sorry. You are not Monica. I shouldn’t have treated you like that” she wipes her face with her hands “But Ian, when you were diagnosed… It was like the sky falling on our heads…”

“You’ve always been such a happy kid... you’ve never had any problems and then...You disappeared and came back acting strange and started dating a neighbourhood thug and…”

She shrugs helplessly and he gets it now, even if it hurts. She believed that she didn’t have to worry about him, that he was the “safe” one.  

“I was sleeping with Kash Karim when I was 15” Ian admits and Fiona freezes, her mouth opening in perfect O.

“What?” 

“The Kash and Grab store I was working in? I was fucking the owner. I knew I was gay already and he was so nice” he swallows and continues “He shot Mickey because of me. Because he was a cowardly jealous fuck. How’s that for no problems, hmm?” 

“He was in his thirties…” Fiona whispers and Ian shrugs

“Oh, yeah. I was an idiot. By the way, I got together with Mickey when I was 15, too. We were fucking for years before he came out. He went to juvie for me twice, his father beat him and forced him to marry Svetlana because of me. How’s that for no problems?

Fiona’s staring at him with wide, teary eyes like she’s seeing him for a first time ever. The fire drains from him slowly.

“I might not have been bipolar back then, Fi. But I sure as fuck wasn’t this calm kid without any problems that you seem to believe I was. You just didn’t  _notice_ ”

She takes it like a Gallagher, standing tall, chin raised. He’ll always give it to her, the bravery, the strength. 

“I... I... I didn’t know. How....?” She whispers “God, I’m sorry... I...”

“Because I never told you” He shrugs “It’s not your fault, Fi. There is nothing you should be sorry for, not from back _then_. You fucking raised us all! And you accepted that I was gay and encouraged me to train for West Point. You did what you could. I didn’t want to add to your burden” He shrugs “Debbi, Carl, Liam - they all needed you more than me”

“I don’t blame you for that, it was my choice” He lowers his gaze

“And, yeah, I’m much more fucked up, now. But I’m still me, I’m still Ian. I’m not a problem, I’m not a bullet on your checklist to tick off. I’m me...” he looks up “Mickey can see it, could always see it. Even Lip is starting too. But you can’t” 

“That’s what I blame you for” He swallows, sees her nod “And for treating Mickey like garbage when all he was doing was take care of me and support me. And for never asking if I was ok when I lost him. And for never asking if I was ok when I lost him again, after his escape”

“I should have” Fiona says, her jaw set determinately “And I will. Ian, I promise, I will. I will ask and I will listen and I will never-ever see you as Monica”

Suddenly, she moves forward and envelopes him in tight bone-crashing hug.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Ian. Please, forgive me” 

They love each other, the Gallaghers, they do. It’s their biggest salvation and curse in life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, terribly sorry for the delay on this chapter - it was supposed to go up ages ago. But apparently, my mind can't cope with the idea of bringing this story to the end, because I hit a writer block. Parts of this chapter have been written a long time ago and I had a clear idea of what to do with the rest, but I just couldn't put it on paper. Same might happen with the next chapter, but it should be out by next weekend, I hope. 
> 
> There are still part of this that I don't like - the confrontation at the bar comes across as phony to me when I re-read it. But I wanted some dramatic push that would force Ian to have an open conversation with Fiona.
> 
> There are also parts that I love - mainly everything with Yevy in it!


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn’t know what the future holds. But as they drive away from Santa Theresa, his hand on Mickey’s thigh, watching Guererros waving in the back mirror, he knows, from the very depth of his heart - from that place that hold all the pain and despair of their time apart - that he is never letting Mickey go again.  
> And as long as he and Mickey are at each other’s sides, they can do anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, a MILLION apologies for the huge delay in continuing this story! Long story short - I faced the real writing block. About two thirds of this story was written in September and I had a clear vision for the rest. For some reason, i just could not put it on paper! It's only in the last month I started slowly writing again. I'm sure part of it is just saying goodby to the world I created; but my disappointment with season 9 also played the role (more about it in the end notes).
> 
> Secondly, a huge THANK you for your continued support, kudos and comments while I was in the hiding. I drew my inspiration re-reading old comments :)
> 
> Finally, I have no idea if this chapter is any good; I spent too much time with it. I like parts of it, think other parts are too melodramatic, others underdeveloped... But if I keep working on it, we'll never see the end of the story :)

_Late-May, Mexico_

 

***

They argue about the mode of transportation a little bit. Mickey suggests they fly to Albuquerque and pick up one of his brothers’ cars from there. Ian insists they drive the entire way. It’s will be more convenient, he says, they can bring as many presents as they want and it’s not like they are short on time. 

After a moment of hesitation, Mickey agrees. And as soon as the decision is made, they somehow decide to skip New Mexico on the way there all together. Which means they are driving through Texas - taking the same route they took that many-many months ago.

 

***

Only when Ian gets in the car that morning does he realise why Mickey offered to fly instead.

It’s a clear blue-sky day, much warmer than the one they took off on that fateful February. The circumstances are different too; his backpack is much bigger and sits in the trunk instead of at his feet; they are in front of the Alibi, having just said goodbye to Yevy, instead of some dilapidated building. They are going to come back, both of them, very soon.

And yet the moment Ian gets in the car, a strange sense of deja vu engulfs him. His heartbeat skyrockets as they slowly pass through familiar streets; it’s not exactly anxiety, but it’s not excitement either, something strangely in-between. 

He throws a quick glance to Mickey’s face - his eyes are hidden behind large dark shades and his hand is resting on the wheel slackly; his mouth is set in a light relaxed half-smile. 

He remembers seeing Mickey’s face through the window of the car all those months ago, tense and uncertain and then unbearably, beautifully happy.

Slowly Ian reaches out to grasp Mickey’s thigh and is relieved when a second later the brunette’s hand finds his own and squeezes gently. The corner of Mickey’s lip moves another quarter of the inch up and Ian can’t help his own smile. 

He reaches out with his free hand to play with the radio, puts on some pop song that he knows will annoy Mickey to hell.

Suddenly, he’s not anxious or unsure anymore - he’s going on a road trip with the man he loves.

 

***

The last time Ian made his way south from Chicago, he was so manic he could have been traveling in Africa for all he cared. Any record of his surrounding was fast overridden by the kaleidoscope of disjointed thoughts in his own head.

And the time before that... The time before that he was so overwhelmed by Mickey, by being near Mickey; the shocking happiness and light that he’s almost forgotten existed; the crashing worry of what’s to come; the doubts and fears. His entire world narrowed down to the insides of the beat-down car and the two of them.

Now... it takes a while for his nerves to settle, but as they steadily leave Chicago behind, Ian can’t  _stop_  looking around, drinking in their surroundings. 

The late spring weather brings sun and light breeze to the Midwest. Endless fields stretch on both sides of the road and Ian forgot how great it is to be out in the open after the hustle of Chicago. 

At some point they switch off the AC, throw the windows open, dial up the radio. They buy bottles of coke and chips at the petrol station and eat them messily, singing along to trashy radio songs. 

Ian feels light, relaxed, happy - so fucking happy. And part of it is about the weather, being on the road and the overwhelming sense of freedom. But more importantly, it’s a silly, lopsided grin that refuses to leave Mickey’s face, a twinkle in his impossibly blue eyes and the way he keeps shooting quick glances into Ian’s direction. 

He’s on a road trip with the man he loves, and they are both happy. 

 

***

They take their time now, when there is no hurry, no fear. 

They drop by a couple of sights in the afternoon, stay in a motel in a small sleepy town in Arkansas. A plump lady who owns the place looks at them fondly and praises a restaurant on the corner for its charming romantic atmosphere. Mickey grumbles about her saccharine attitude and shoots her a glare, but once they are in their room and have had a chance to wash the road off themselves he asks Ian

“You want to go eat at that place or order pizza or whatever?”

“Are you inviting me out on a date?” Ian asks teasingly

“Fuck all I’m inviting you on” Mickey throws almost automatically “What’s that with you and the dates? We...”

He pauses, and Ian lifts his eyebrow. 

For all the time they spent together in the last three months, they still never went on a proper date. Sure, they eat out and order in, but it’s always casual, domestic. Not that Ian minds - being domestic with Mickey is the best thing he can think of. And it seems almost silly to go on dates when they live together, spend every night in each other arms and have been to hell and back together. 

Still... He stares at Mickey expectantly.

“You serious Gallagher?” He shakes his head at Ian’s pointed silence “I guess I’m inviting you on a fucking date, then”

Ian’s unable to keep a delighted thrill from his voice when he laughs. 

So, they end up sitting in a cozy little restaurant dressed in their fanciest shirts and sharing appetisers over beer. And they don’t hold hands or spoon feed each other, but Mickey’s knee is pressed to Ian’s thigh under the table the entire time and their conversation flows easily like it always does and Ian thinks momentarily what a fucking idiot he was - trying to find bits of normalcy in other people when his own, favourite normal is just this - him and Mickey together. 

They make out in a bathroom stall and stumble back to their hotel room and make love slowly and leisurely with windows open and no hurry in the world.

 

***

The date night and the slow morning - showering together, eating pancakes in a nearby diner - means they don’t make it back on the road until midday the next day. 

Mickey likes the slowness - gone are the early days after he brought Ian back home and they spend all their time together healing slowly. Nowadays, they are both pretty busy with the studies and work, with Yevgeny. Having these moments - of peace and quiet, just the two of them - it’s precious.

And when the fuck, did he start thinking about anything as “precious”? 

But it fucking is... and so is the light-hearted expression on Ian’s face, his cheeky relaxed smile as he sings along to the music on the radio (sings badly!) as he takes his turn at the wheel; his delight in everything they see and encounter. 

Being on the road comes natural to Mickey these days - he must have done a good ten thousand miles across Mexico and southern states in the last year. But Ian’s rarely been out of Chicago, except during his manic episodes and maybe a trip or two with ROTC when they were kids. So, he insists they stop everywhere and take photos (fucking selfies!) and try new foods. Ian chats with people in diners and roadside cafes, while Mickey glares and grumbles.

With that speed there is no chance in hell they are reaching the border before midnight.

“We should find a motel” Mickey asks after their last petrol stop. Ian’s leaning against the car inhaling the warm night air hungrily “You don’t want to be on the other side of the border at this hour”

“Or we could just sleep outside?” Ian offers with puppy eyes and Mickey’s mind automatically goes back to the last time they were stuck in Texas overnight.

 

***

They find a cosy spot, off the main road, throw blankets on the ground, pop out a couple of beers, Mickey lights up a cigarette. 

They watch the night sky, the stars that are not visible in Chicago. The air is warm, thick with smells of grass and earth.

“When did you know?” Mickey asks suddenly, doesn’t know that that’s what’s been on his mind until the words are out of his mouth “That you weren’t coming with me”

Ian freezes next to him.

“Mick...” his voice trembles, almost fearful. It’s been a while since they revisited the ghosts of the past. 

“I’m just asking, man” Mickey shrugs “I told you before - I understand why you didn’t come. It doesn’t matter. I just want to know”

Which is both the truth and the lie. It doesn’t matter in the sense that it does not change anything. But at the same time it very much  _does_ because it’s something that Mickey spent a lot of time thinking about once upon a time. He wants to know… maybe he even fucking _needs_ to know.

“I used to wonder if you ever intended to come. All the way, I mean” He shrugs again. There used to be days when he wished one way, days he wished another.

Ian shifts on his side so that he can see Mickey better, but the brunette keeps his eyes focused on the stars.

“I did… I did intend to come with you all the way” He admits finally and sighs.

“Not at first, you know? I didn’t know I was about to come with you. Or rather... I didn’t know that I knew. Not until you rolled up in that car. I kept debating with myself, kept asking myself if I was being crazy. Abandoning everything... But then I saw you... ready to go... and you looked at me... And I knew that if I don’t get in the car, if you drive away – this is it. I will never see you again. And I knew that I had to come with you...”

“But I think, really, I knew since the docks. When we were kissing, and you told me to say goodbye to you. I grew so fucking angry. Because I didn’t want to do it, Mick, never!”

He lets out a deep sigh, almost painful. 

“So, yeah. I did plan to come with you, and not just to the border”

Another sigh, and Ian turns on his back. 

“I got scared, though, along the way. Everything was... fucked up... The money, getting over the border, what we’ll do on the other side, what would my family think, my fucking bipolar... I told you I was a coward”

“Don’t be stupid” Mickey grumbles “Course you were fucking terrified. Not like we had a plan” He shrugs “We were heading for fucking mess, that’s for sure”

They stay silent for a while and then suddenly Ian continues, his voice strained. 

“It’s not only that… It was something else that scared the shit out of me. When we were on the road… everything was bright, vivid suddenly. Everything just fucking made _sense_. We were in a shitty situation, I left my entire life behind, I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but I was fucking  _happy_ ” he lets out an almost hysterical laugh and Mickey’s heart clenches, because that’s what being with Ian feels like for him too “And I forgot what it’s like to be that fucking happy and I felt like I couldn’t trust it. Couldn’t trust myself”

His voice turns almost pleading and Mickey finally reaches out to take his hand. Ian squeezes back as if it’s his lifeline. 

“That night, when you punched me and told me you missed me. God, I wanted to apologise so much, tell you how much I missed you too, how shitty it was without you... But I didn’t, couldn’t - I don’t fucking know! The only thing I could think of was that I loved you and I was going to lose you again. I never wanted that night to end”

“Me fucking neither” Mickey admits after a while “I knew you were having doubts, it all felt too fucking good to be true. But I didn’t want to admit it ...” He squeezes Ian’s hand

“And then at the border, everything just... hit me, all the fears, doubts, worries about what lies next... Being apart - I’ve done it already, I survived... I thought I could do it again. And you’ll be better off without me in the long run”

He shrugs and Mickey sighs. He feels lighter, though, for some strange reason - like knowing what was happening in Ian’s mind at the time sets him free. 

“Fucking idiot” He grumbles and hits Ian on the shoulder lightly. Ian doesn’t even flinch, just chases his touch 

“Yeah, I know. I realised what kind of idiot I was as soon as I got back to Chicago.

They move closer together without a word - Mickey’s turning onto his side and Ian’s spooning him, arms almost painfully tight.

“I’ll always come with you. No matter where you go” He whispers quietly in Mickey’s ear.

 

***

Santa Theresa is everything that Ian’s imagined from Mickey’s stories and yet so much more. 

As soon as they turn from the highway on the narrow mountain road Mickey’s whole demeanour starts to change. He switches off the air con and rolls the windows down. His leg starts tapping to the Spanish songs on the radio and a crooked smile fights to appear on his face. Every once in a while, he shoots quick delighted glances Ian’s way. 

“Not tucking bad, hmm?” He motions to the dry grass hills rolling around them and Ian nods even though he’s not looking, not really. He can’t look away from Mickey’s face, it’s quiet happiness. He loves it so much, he’s willing to watch it forever.

 

***

A year and a half ago – in what to Mickey now feels like another life – he drove up the beat down road towards the run down bar in the middle of nowhere with the strange sense of relief. Not because he was expecting anything good, but because he had finally found a place to fucking _stop_ , to give up, to finally give in to what’s he’s always known – he’s fucked up for life and it’s time to stop fighting. He was a dead man walking and who the fuck cares where he’s destined to drop.

Fucking funny that driving up this road now he’s never felt more fucking _alive_.

The driveaway is new and the familiar white walls got a paint facelift since his last visit. There are several cars parked haphazardly in the shade on the side of the road. He can see the small group sitting around the table on the terrace and he knows – fucking strange feeling for a Milkovich – that they are waiting, eagerly, for _him_. And Ian’s is in seat beside him, right foot tapping excitedly.

“We are here” Mickey says redundantly, because what he really wants to say is _“we are home”_ , but it would sound stupid to his own ears.

Because, home is a thing you love and protect above anything else in life; you fight to fucking keep it and you destroy anyone who tries to touch it. Because Ian is his home, always been, always will be – no question, no competition. But maybe here, now, is a little bit like home too. And… fuck it! Let someone else worry about shit like this.

_“Mickey! Mickey’s here!” – Jorge junior_

_“They know, estupido! Everybody can see him!” - Anna_

_“I know cariño, let me hug him!” – Regina_

_“Mickey! And you must be, Ian! Finally!” - Miguel_

_“That’s Ian? Very handsome, no? Rojo!” – Senora Guererro_

_“What the hell took you so long, Americano?!” Hector_

_“Give the man some tequila, A Dios!” – Miguel_

_“Excellent idea!” – Jonathan_

_“Good… yes, yes, welcome” - Antonio_

The moment they get out of the car it feels like the _entire fucking village_ is there to greet them. They surrender him and Ian, slap their backs, hug them, shout and laugh, and more or less carry them to the terrace, where a huge a table sits.

Miraculously, food starts to appear all around them, accompanied by endless flow of tequila and when the plates get empty they are immediately replaced with others. Everybody talks, at the same time, loudly, excitedly, trying to simultaneously enquire all about them and share all the stories from the village.

It feels like the entire lifetime passed since January. It feels like he’s never left.

Ian, always an attention whore, soaks up the atmosphere with the giddy smile, introduces himself to everyone, answers whatever question he can understand, eats whatever he’s given and even drinks some of it. He seems to remember everything about everyone that Mickey’s ever told him and everybody loves him.

Hours later, when the sky turns black and the bottles empty they drunkenly stumble upstairs to a simple double bedroom with a fan on the ceiling and windows that never close properly. They undress in the dark, dropping clothes as they go and fall into the bed side by side. Mickey’s back immediately recognises the deeps of the hard-worn mattress and for a second, he feels unreal like he’s fallen into one of the torturous dreams he used to have all those months ago lying alone in this very bed - the dreams where Ian’s by his side. It’s fleeting, though, gone before he can realise it.

He’s pleasantly drunk, the kind of buzz that only Guererro’s tequila can bring on and his entire body feels liquid.

Ian rolls over onto his side, the bed squawking funnily, his arm landing across Mickey’s chest and his face tucks into the base of Mickey’s neck.

“I really want to fuck you right now” he moans “But I’m afraid if I move my stomach will fucking burst”

“We are too drunk to get it up anyway” Mickey slurs back and for once Ian doesn’t take it as a challenge, just puffs hot breaths into his skin sleepily “Tomorrow, firecrotch, fucking tomorrow”

They are fucking alive and they’ve got a fucking tomorrow.

 

 

***

“Hola, Miguel! The fuck are you doing?” Mickey’s voice rings across the yard and Ian supresses a smile at the familiar grumpiness in his voice. Miguel shouts something back and they switch to Spanish. Ian’s smile slowly dims as he hears them laugh about something.

Ian loves it here. He loves the beautiful nature, the quiet flow of village life, the amazing food, the world of tequila that rules the local community.

He loves Guererros, their kind hearts and loud mouths, Antonio’s authority and strength, Regina’s endless care, Miguel’s unbound curiosity. He loves them for welcoming him so openly and easily, like they had known him forever. He loves them for being a kind of family he’s always wanted to be a part of.

Most of all he loves them because he can see how much they love Mickey.

Because Mickey, Ian’s always known, deserves to be loved by people and love them in return. Because, it warms his heart to watch his boyfriend crouched over the paperwork with Antonio, silently comparing the numbers. Because, every time Mickey allows Regina or Theresa pat his arm or serve him an extra plate of food, Ian can barely supress a smile. And watching Mickey around Jorge junior, grumpily answering every question, never fails to stop his breath – because while Mickey can still be a bit awkward around Yevy now, Ian’s got no doubts about who’s going to be little guy’s favourite parent soon.

Ian loves it here and yet, sometimes – when they sit around the dinner table and Mickey laughs at some intricate Spanish joke, when Mickey’s driving through the maze of the local roads without even glancing at the map, when he responds to Hector’s insults automatically, without even thinking. At those moments a tiny traitorous part of Ian is terribly fucking jealous.

Because, Mickey _belongs_ here. Not the way he belongs in the Southside – where it’s written in his blood, in the way he walks, talks, thinks, behaves.

No, he belongs here because he chose to stay here, fought here, was accepted here and needed here. He’s needed at the factory and at the bar, at the family dinner and around the poker table.

Because Mickey’s _built a life_ here.

_Without Ian._

***

Mickey notices, of course. Mickey notices everything about him, always, and since they moved together he can probably map Ian’s moods better than Ian himself.

“I’m fine” Ian insists when Mickey asks. The ex-con lets it go, though Ian knows that it’s only temporary.

He’s too ashamed of his own pettiness to talk about what’s troubling his mind. It feels too silly and fucked up to call Dr Foster about.

It might be Ian’s imagination, but Jonathan shoots him quick glances every once in a while. He tries to avoid the man. For once he’s Mickey’s… person (no way in hell, Mickey will allow anyone to be called his shrink). For second… too fucking ashamed.

So, he stomps on the feeling and smiles and tries to enjoy what he loves about being here.

It’s Regina who approaches him one day, when he’s helping to clear out tables after lunch; just gently lays a hand on his arm and suddenly Ian drops down on the chair and feels his entire body drained of energy.

“It’s all right” Regina says in Spanish, slowly so he can understand “it’s all right”

She caresses his shoulder like a child’s, and he feels himself calming somewhat.

“Mickey always sit here” She suddenly speaks in broken English pointing to the chair at the large table Mickey favours “And here” she points to the chair nearby; the one Ian took “always empty. I offer, but he no want. And now I know. Because you sit here” She squeezes his shoulder gently “Do you understand?”

Ian is not sure.

 

***

Mickey suggests they go to the Puerto Vallarte for a couple of days and Ian eagerly agrees. The city is fun, Mick’s house is cute as fuck and Ian loves the beach.

And it all goes well until one evening they are sitting in some bar and young handsome Mexican approaches Mickey with the smile.

And Ian knows, immediately, without having to ask, that the guy has been Mick’s lover, that they’ve been together for some time.

And it’s like something breaks inside him.

He gets up and walks away.

 

 

 

***

Mickey finds him on the porch, starting into the sky that’s just started turning pink. 

“The fuck’s wrong?” He asks in that mix of annoyed grumpiness and gentleness that Ian loves so much.

He lets out a deep sign and comes clean. 

“I’m fucking jealous, Mick. That’s what’s fucking wrong”

“You are jealous?” Mickey repeats slowly as if he doesn’t quite understand “Of what? Fucking Paolo?

“Yes! Of course!” Ian closes his eyes “Course, I’m jealous of him!”

“But also, of everything!” He sighs heavily, fighting the wave of self-disgust

“We are in this wonderful place, where you are loved and cherished and accepted and the only thing on my mind is that... You did it all without me...” 

Surprisingly, saying it out loud feels almost good, liberating. Mickey lowers himself on the step next to Ian. A side glance reveals a deep thoughtful thrown on his face. He doesn’t say anything, clearly waiting for Ian to explain himself. 

“You have this place, this family... And, God, Mick, I’m so happy that you do... But... I watch you with Antonio, Regina, with the kids. I see how you laugh at something they say in Spanish, how you know where everything is... And I know it’s the world that I’ve never been a part of” 

He swallows, chances another look at Mickeys face, still frowning, still doubtful.

“I see you smile or exchange a word with some young guy and I wonder if you fucked him... I wonder if he fucked you...” He swallows “And I have no fucking right to be jealous - but I fucking am! Because I’m a fucking jealous bastard!”

“I watch you with Miguel, how you laugh and shoot together, how you joke. And I want to fucking punch him. Because I’m jealous of him too”

“Miguel is straighter than a fucking lamp post!” Mickey says and now there is a bit of annoyance in his words

“I know” Ian shakes his head “I fucking know and I’m  _still_  jealous. Because he’s your friend, he knows you, you share things that I don’t know, haven’t experienced. He... he owes parts of you, your life that I don’t...”

He chuckles, rubs his face. 

“I used to think that I was the only person to see the real you, you know? And I used to dream that you’ll one day start showing that part of you - kind, gentle... to other people as well. So that they can see you and love you just as I do... I didn’t realise that will mean I’ll have to share. That there will be a part of you life where I don’t belong”

“Fuck! I sound like some obsessed idiot!” 

He pauses and then exhales.

“You had a life here, Mickey. A happy life. With people that love you. A life without me. And I’m so happy for you - because you deserve it so much! But I’m a fucking jealous bastard. I wish I was a part of it...”

 

***

Mickey stays silent for a while 

“You’ve always been a fucking jealous bastard” Ian’s surprised to hear a bit of laughter in his boyfriend’s voice “Maybe more so than I am and I’m fucking jealous” 

“You’ve always been a fucking idiot too, firecrotch” He blurts our almost angrily and his face tightens. 

He takes out a pack and lights a smoke. Ian waits him out.

“Do you have any idea how many hours I spent sitting on this porch?” He asks casually

“It was one of my favourite things to do, after I got the place” Mickey says casually “I never got tired of the fucking view” He motions around them “I mean... just look at that!” 

Ian glances at the blue of the ocean, the pinkish sunset. It is breath-taking and yet he turns to Mickey, watches the beautiful face of his lover.

“This place... it fucking healed me, Ian. Or at least came as close to as possible. After the prison, after the border... For a long time I didn’t give a shit on whether I was alive or dead. But here ...” words fail him and he shrugs “I was just allowed to be”

Ian’s heart clenches. Mickey takes a drag of his cigarette. 

“So I sat here and enjoyed fucking being, I guess. But at some point I’d always have to get up and do something else” He shrugs “You know why?” 

Ian shakes his head.

“Because I would fucking start thinking about you” 

Ian hearts jumps in his throat. He can’t look away from Mickey’s profile.

“I would start dreaming what if you were here? What if you could see what I could see? What if I could fucking talk to you, touch you, make love to you?”

Slowly he turns to look at the redhead. 

“You think I built a life here, Ian? I did. But you were fucking _with me_ the entire time”

Ian fights the tears that threaten to overwhelm him. 

“You moved on... you settled... you got a place and started dating and...” 

“And I would have given everything back if I could have you with me instead! Because, you fucking were, in my mind” Mickey’s fingers crush the cigarette and throw it away “In my dreams, in my car, in my house, skinny dipping in the fucking ocean! Everywhere! I wanted you to fucking be here, with me! Do you fucking get it?”

It’s like a bulb light switching on in Ian’s head. 

Because he  _does_  get it. What Mickey is saying, what Regina’s tried to say.

He’s felt the same way after all - like he would give everything to have Mickey with him. He dreamed about the ex-con, he felt his presence and his absence just as much... And Mickey got to be happier, managed to turn his life around while they were apart, to find his people. 

But he was feeling the same way as Ian, he needed him, wanted him just as much...

He surges forward across the step and kisses his boyfriend hungrily. 

“I love you” He whispers in-between their kisses “Fuck, I love you so much...”

 

***

After that, everything changes.

Ian loves it this place, because it allowed Mickey to build a new life for himself. And now, Mickey can show this life to him.

They go skinny dipping in the ocean. They make love on the squeaky bed in the shack with windows open. They drive around the small roads and share cigarettes in the factory’s yard. They play with the kids and eat their heart’s content at the family table.

They do it together, like Mickey used to dream and like Ian wish he could.

 

 

***

Regina hugs them both goodbye fiercely several times and Ian can swear he can see her eyes glistening with tears as she instructs them to have a safe journey back. 

 “Gracias” He whispers in her ear as he hugs her back tightly. 

He wishes he had enough words in him to tell her just how grateful he is. For her kindness and her care; for welcoming him here, making him feel like he belongs; for welcoming  _Mickey_  all those months ago andgiving him home. For… loving the man he loves. He hopes she can understand it without words from the strength of his embrace.

“De nada” She whispers back simply as she lets him go.

The rest of the Guerreros are here as well. Antonio and Miguel are chatting with Mickey by the car -  the Guerrero patriarch is standing quietly, one hand curled around his chin as his younger brother is gesticulating passionately, the rapid flow of words escaping his mouth is too fast for Ian to catch. 

Hector has tasked Jorge and Jorge junior with loading the back of Mickey’s car with tequila boxes and his white beard is glistening in the morning light. He curses non-stop and frowns and is utterly confusing.

It is hot and loud and messy and disorganised. And a part of Ian would love to stay here forever.

They are going to come back here soon, Ian thinks as he’s given hugs and goodbye kisses from everyone. 

He and Mickey already discussed it last night. They’ll visit at the end of the summer if Ian can take some time off. And then during Christmas; get Colin and Iggy to join them, maybe Mandy as well.

And then maybe next year they can bring Yevgeny along too - Guerrero’s would love him, Ian knows. And then they’ll invite the Mexican family over to Chicago to visit - next spring, when it’s nice and warm; they’ll show them the sights, feed them greasy American food and will take them to watch baseball. He’s already promised Jorge Junior to teach him some moves.  

And then maybe, in several years, when Ian’s Spanish is better and Yevy’s all grown up, they can come back more permanently, stay for months, even a couple of years... Enjoy the sun and the ocean, drink tequila and wear sandals. 

He moves to Mickey’s side, throws an arm around his shoulders. Automatically, the ex-con’s arm comes around his waist, a familiar line of security, support and affection.

Ian knows it’s pointless to plan too far ahead. He isn’t ready for it yet. And with his bipolar and their luck - it’s not like anything in their lives is set in stone. 

He doesn’t know what the future holds. But as they drive away from Santa Theresa, his hand on Mickey’s thigh, watching Guererros waving in the back mirror, he knows, from the very depth of his heart - from that place that hold all the pain and despair of their time apart - that he is never letting Mickey go again.

And as long as he and Mickey are at each other’s sides, they can do anything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three notes:
> 
> 1) I hope Ian's emotions come through as natural and not stupid. I wanted him to love that part of Mickey's life, but also feel vulnerable about it. 
> 
> 2) Despite the fact that a big part of this chapter is about Ian, I hope you can hear Mickey's voice as well. Because there are some things he learns and accepts in this chapter as well. He's just... less vocal about it, as always :)
> 
> 3) It's the 2nd chapter in the entire story (1st being N16) that I consider re-writing at later stage. As I said, there are parts that I feel need expansion. 
> 
> !!!S9 THOUGHTS (SPOILERS)!!!!
> 
>  
> 
> Ok, I need to put it here. I avoided reading about it so I don't know what the popular opinion is, but I was deeply discouraged by season 9 to the point, where it affected my writing. I hated the way Gallavich was dealt with in the last episode - it had a moment of the old chemistry but a) Mickey deserved better than ending up as a safety net for Ian once he's life fallen apart; b) Mickey deserved better than ending behind bars; c) Mickey deserved a backstory to what happened to him off-screen; d) We deserved better than 1 minute, rushed scene without any backstory for Mickey. I hated it so much, I now have an alternative interpretation of the scene in my head, that I might put on paper as a one-shot (incredibly sad and gloomy, I'm afraid). 
> 
> But what really discouraged me wasn't Gallavich. Full disclosure - first time I watched the series (s1-3), I didn't get the magic of these two characters. I liked them, but they weren't the reasons I kept on watching. What drew me in was the family dynamics, amazing writing, clever stories. Early S9 felt like a mockery of what made Shameless, though I still have hopes for part 2.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow’s a busy day. And some shit is probably going to happen. But as long as he has this, he knows it will be all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it... The end of the story that's been integral part of my life in the last 12 months. It brought me great pleasure writing this story and it's truly the first piece of work I wanted to start AND finish; the one I wanted to share with the world, so to speak. I didn't exactly plan for the long hiatus towards the end, but I'm glad that I'm finishing it off before 2018 ends. 
> 
> I intentionally don't write any "future" of our favorite couple for the simple reason is that I don't know what it holds. The purpose of the story has always been to bring them together, as I believe they belong, and to show them grow to the happy and stable relationship they both deserve. Anything else, in my opinion, is secondary :) They'll be all right - they got each other!
> 
> If you are one of the readers of the story, if you enjoyed it in any way, there is one thing you can do for me :). Please, leave me a comment - tell me about your favorite chapter, favorite line, favorite moment. I realized over time that there is little else I like more than hearing your thoughts. 
> 
> Myself, I like 90% of what I wrote, but the following chapters hold a special place in my heart. Chapters 7-9 when Ian and Mickey are apart; spinning out their individual stories; Chapters 13-15 because wirting Ian's spiraling was difficult, but also rewarding; Chapters 20-23 - their first hesitant moments back together.

_4 th of July, Southside Chicago_

 

***

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us for the fireworks?” Ian asks Sue when she drops him off in front of the house.

“I have no interest in the kind of fireworks you and your boyfriend fire” Sue retorts cheekily as she takes a sip of her frappe.

It’s only 8 am in the morning, but the sun is already blazing over Chicago and the air is heavy with humidity. The long and boring night shift is finally over. 

“I mean this afternoon” Ian shoots her a playfully annoyed look “We are having a Gallaghers get together. Why don’t you bring Joe and the kids?”

“Gallagher party? Let me guess, lots of booze and illegal fireworks? Tempting” She takes another sip “But unfortunately, I promised my ball and chain to join their office barbecue”

“I thought you hold the leash in this marriage?” Ian smirks as he checks his bag

“Oh, please, mister stop-here-I-need-to-buy-Mickey-his favourite-cinnamon-buns” Sue chants in bad imitation of Ian’s voice and the redhead laughs loudly.

“He’s got a sweet tooth” he informs Sue as he grabs aforementioned purchase and jumps out of the rig.

“I’m sure he does” Sue winks and adds, in what for her passes as sweet tone “Say Hi to him from me”

Sue likes Mickey, Ian knows, is almost fond of his boyfriend, in the way she’s never been fond of any of his previous relationship. Maybe it’s the fact that Ian is so obviously happy nowadays or that Mickey is more than able to hold his own against the woman’s sarcasm. What surprises the redhead is that the sympathy seems to be mutual – every time Ian brings Mickey along for the drinks with his colleagues, the two brunettes end up huddled over beer snapping half-hearted insults and playing pool. The relationship means that Mickey minds tagging along less that he usually would in the strange company and that means that Ian gets to show off his boyfriend.

He’s closing the door when Sue calls out to him.

“Hey, kid” She leans towards him and grins “It’s good to have you back”

And who can blame Ian if there is a slight skip in his step as he walks to the door?

 

***

The house is dead quite when Ian unlocks the door. He drops the bag with cinnamon buns on the kitchen table and walks to the bedroom, toeing off his shoes and stripping off his sweaty uniform on the way.

The room’s dark thanks to the heavy curtains and hot despite the two fans buzzing in the corners. Mickey is spread out on the bed in his boxers, the sheets tangled around his ankles. His face is relaxed, in a way that Ian is quickly getting used to seeing and a thin layer of sweat glistens deliciously on his skin, still tan from their time in Mexico.

Ian just stands there for a moment, watching his lover, in their bed. Mickey once told him that he still remembers the first time he got to wake up next to him, on the morning after his coming out; how he couldn’t believe that this, here was all his. Ian knows what he means. It still hits him sometime, the same feeling of aw.

Not only awe, of course, because Mickey’s naked save for a pair of boxes and that expectantly cause other feelings to rise. As quiet as possible Ian gets rid of the rest of his clothes and crawls in the bed next to the brunette. Ian’s hands and mouth find the familiar path on his skin – from the tender spot just below his ear, along the dark stubble line to the rough scar tissue on his right peck. Mickey thinks that Ian has an obsession with his scar and the redhead doesn’t deny it. This little rough spot symbolises in his mind everything good and bad that happened during the last couple of years of their lives – how close he came to losing Mickey and how grateful he is to have found him again.

Just as Ian moves to the ticklish spot along Mickey’s ribs, the brunette sighs and his hand grips the back of Ian’s head.

“With speed like that, I’ll die of blue balls” he murmurs sleepily and presses his hips into redhead’s side to accentuate his point.

“I’m appreciating” Ian bites at the tender skin

“Appreciate further down south” Mickey retorts, but in contrast to his words he tugs at the nap of Ian’s neck and draws him up until their mouths slot in lazy sloppy kiss.

“How was the shift” Mickey asks as they break apart. His eyes are still closed, but his fingers card softly through Ian’s hair

“Long. Boring. Sue says Hi, though” Ian goes back to kissing his neck “Alibi?”

“Long. Annoying” Mickey leans into his touch “Frank got into fight with a 7 feet guy, some asshole from Tommy’s construction team. Lana wacked him with a fucking broom”

“Frank?” Ian asks, not really interested

“The other guy” Mickey yawns, in the same adorable way of his that Yevy inherited (Ian’s not stupid enough to point it out).

“Hopefully, it means, Frank’s skipping tonight” Ian, almost done playing, sets on the more direct line down mickey’s chest.

“Ugh… you sure we can’t fucking skip it as well?” Mickey asks as he watches his progress

“Nah… all the Gallaghers will be there” the redhead murmurs millimetres away from the sensitive skin of Mickey’s belly button “And we Lana. And Yevy. And Mandy. It’ll be fun!”

“Exactly what I… Fuck!” the brunette arches “Do I really need to… Oh fuck it! Just there”

Ian smiles as he grabs the hem of Mickey’s boxers and tags.

 

***

Even Mickey can’t deny that if there was one holiday that Southsiders knew how to celebrate it was the 4th of July. Happy Thanksgiving? Not much fun if you barely scrap for a turkey. Christmas? Charitable, my ass! But 4th of July? Every Southsider knows how to throw a fucking party!

By the time he and Ian, together with Mandy, Yevy and Lana get to the Gallagher’s house, the party is in full swing. The air smells of overcooked meat and gasoline, the tables are breaking under the weight of cheap alcohol and the music blasts from open windows of the Gallagher’s house.

Mickey doesn’t know why Fiona decided to organise the community party in her own backyard this year. Maybe, she’s feeling guilty about her newfound middle class status (even though he knows things are not going that smoothly for her building), maybe it’s the chance to get all the kids together for once; or maybe she just wants to have fun. He hopes she’s getting what she wants; doesn’t care much either way.

As soon as they get there, Ian gets swamped by his siblings; Mickey sees him in the corner where Carl is showing Liam some hand-to-hand combat moves and leaves them to be. Lana takes Yevy to the pool, full of screaming kicking children – no fucking way he goes anywhere near the place. And his fucking sister disappears somewhere suspiciously quietly. Left to his own devices, Mickey finds a pack of beer and a quiet corner.

“Mind opening my coke?” Debbie Gallagher appears at his side with Franny in her arms “She refuses to be put down even for a minute”

Mickey passes her the opened bottle.

“You have social services coming around or something?” He enquires, taking into view her demure summer dress

“Nah” She takes a sip “I’m heading over to Derek’s soon. His family invited me to their party. I don’t exactly want to talk custody over Franny drunk”

Mickey takes a swing of his beer and shrugs.

“Good luck” he says simply and Debbie smiles at him with surprising warmth.

 

 

***

A couple of weeks after their return from Mexico, during one of Ian’s first shifts back at work, Debbie Gallagher knocked on their door.

“Ian’s home?” She asked out of breath, Franny on one hip and her equipment on the other.

“No” Mickey said simply. He was having a rather pleasant time watching Yevgeny for the day and have just figured out the logistics of simultaneously feeding a three-year-old and allowing him to play his fucking toy piano (he swears he’s going to kill those musician fuckers Mandy works with!). Last thing he wanted is another round of drama with the youngest Gallagher sister.

“Damn! Damn! Damn!” Debbie stomped her foot, her face going red as she asked shrilly “Where is he??! I need someone to watch Franny!”

“He’s fucking _working_ ” Mickey gritted his teeth and debated closing the door in her face “And why the fuck he should watch your kid?!”

She lets out a long-suffering sigh

 “Fiona’s trying to sort out some stupid shit at the apartment, and V’s girls are sick – I don’t want Franny to catch anything. And Derek’s mother is being a bitch…”

“No” Mickey shook his head “Why the fuck do you expect _Ian_ to help you?”

That stunned her for the moment and she stopped fidgeting. Her eyes widened, and her moth slackened slightly.

He should have closed the door. But he didn’t and now he couldn’t stop.

“Because from where I’m standing he helped you more than enough” He shrugs

 _“More than you’ll ever fucking know!”_ his mind screams but he bites his tongue.

“And the only thing _you_ seem to be doing is treating him like dirt”

“That’s not true!!” Debbie shouts indignantly and Franny fidgets in her arms unhappily “I love Ian! We are family!” she throws the last bit almost accusingly, like it gives her a one over Mickey.

“Yeah?” Mickey smirks “When was the last time you stopped by when you didn’t _need_ anything?”

Debbie freezes and her lower lip starts to tremble.

“You don’t know what it’s like” She says stubbornly, brokenly “You and Ian, you have each other, you fawn all over him! I have no one” Her voice breaks a little and for a second Mickey’s thrown by their similarity with Ian.

“Sucks to be you” He shrugs again “Doesn’t give you a fucking right to stomp all over Ian”

She swallows, once, twice. Whatever the fuck he thinks of her, she’s a soldier, like all fucking Gallaghers. So she stands tall and tightens her chin and nods.

“I didn’t want to hurt him” She says simply and he knows she is honest about it, as much as she can be. It means shit to him, but it might mean more to Ian.

“I’m not the one you should be apologising to” He says simply. He looks at the kid in her arms, at the way the red hair falls on her forehead and holds his hands out “Give me the fucking kid”

Hesitantly, disbelievingly Debbie passes him the child, who feels lightweight in his arms, used to Yevy’s healthy 3-year old bulk.

“The fuck do I feed her?”

“A small tab of mashed vegetables – it’s in the bag. I’ll be back as soon as I can!” Debbie promises “Thank you!”

“Whatever” Mickey mutters

“No” The redhead Gallagher shakes her head “ _Thank_ you. For… you know… Sammi”

“Whatever” Mickey shrugs again and closes the door.

 

If Ian is surprised to find his niece under Mickey’s care when he comes home he doesn’t show.

“Can you walk home with me?“ Debbie asks gently when she comes to pick Franny up. And if Ian doesn’t share what they talked about on the way, he returns home a little lighter, a little happier.

And for Mickey that’s enough.

 

***

He doesn’t notice it at first, because he’s too elated to see Carl and too occupied with Liam. But between his trips to the drinks table, he manages to get a glimpse of Mandy and Lip every once in awhile. And the glances she and his brother send each become obvious.

He’s seen them before. And now he’s actually not so fucked up over his own relationship to miss what they mean.

It doesn’t take long to put two and two together; and just like that other signs he observed in the last month fall into places.

“So… Anything interesting happened while we were in Mexico?” He corners Mandy as she getting her refill. She gives him one look and he nods towards Lip.

“Things… happened” she shrugs sheepishly and the way corner of her mouth moves up, just a little bit – it’s amazing how she manages to loop like the same vulnerable girl she was when they were seventeen and yet, so completely different.

And he knows immediately that whatever he thinks now, whatever he can say – it won’t make any difference whatsoever. Some things are destined to happen, and some aren’t. And Ian never quite managed to figure out which one Lip and Mandy are.

But it’s still his best friend, and he wants her safe and happy, so he has to ask.

“You think it’s a good idea?”

 “Not at all” Mandy grins and leans against him “But I’m a big girl. And I’ve got you, don’t I?”

Ian’s arms go around her shoulders, he kisses the top of her head.

“Always”

 

***

When Mickey joins him by the drinks table, Ian still staring at Mandy and Lip, standing together on Gallagher’s porch. Mickey grabs another beer and follows the direction of his gaze.

“Fucking really?” He mutters, apparently quickly catching up with what’s happening.

“Seems so” Ian shrugs

“He doesn’t fucking deserve her” Mickey says almost matter-of-factly, surprisingly without anger.

“I don’t deserve you” Ian replies easily.

“Bulshit” Mickey hugs him around the waist, a rare public display of affection.

“They are going to be all right” Ian intertwines their fingers together and presses a kiss to Mickey’s palm.

 

***

Just before the fireworks, Lana catches up with them.  

“You keep Yevgeniy tonight?” she asks, and Ian’s heart suddenly leaps in his throat. Because, though he’s occasionally begged for and even succeeded in getting Yevy to stay for the night, it’s the first time that Svetlana _offers_.

“Sure” Mickey nods next to him nonchalantly, because Ian clearly can’t “Do whatever you want”

She smiles in that special way of hers and saunters towards Balls, her arms going around Veronica.

“Fucking really?” Mickey turns to Ian “What is it? Re-hash your old romances night?”

Ian presses an appeasing kiss to his boyfriend’s temple, but, truth to be told, he doesn’t care.

Because, when they are watching fireworks, Yevy clings to him and Mickey, both frightened and in awe and the feel of his tiny little body warms Ian’s heart.

 

***

He stops by to go, he leaves Yevy sleeping in his father’s arms and goes to say goodbye to Fiona. He hadn’t had a real chance to properly talk with her during the entire day, though they exchanged a hug and a kiss.

He finds her sitting on the steps of Gallagher home, smoking.

“You are leaving?” She glances back

“Yeah” He drops down on the step next to her “ Yevy’s done for and, to be honest, so is Mickey”

She smirks and takes another drag.

“You all right?” He asks her because suddenly he gets a feeling that maybe she’s not.

 “Yes and no” His big sister shrugs “I’ll be fine” She sends him an unexpectedly warm, gentle smile “Go, be with your family”

And there is little else he can do, so he squeezes her shoulder and gets up. There is no one as strong as Fiona. No one as stubborn as well.

“I love you, Fi”

“Love you too” She pats his hand “I’m sorry” he stops. She’s looking up to him, honestly and openly, the way she hadn’t looked at him in years.

“For what I told you right after Mickey escaped” She explains “I lied. I did… I _do_ wonder what it would have been like. To escape with Jimmy and never look back. What the fire would have felt like…”

She smiles sadly.

“You are lucky, you know? Because, you never lost that, not really”

“I did” Ian says “And then I got it back. I got lucky. You will too, Fi. One way or another. I know you will”

 

***

“The fuck?” Mickey grumbles at being shaken away

“Shh” Ian whispers “Yevy’s climbing in. Make room” The toddler climbs in and wiggles with true Milkovich determination until he’s squeezed between Mickey and himself. His boyfriend turns and grumbles, but his arms automatically go around the boy.

Ian lays like that for a while, enjoying the warmth and comfort of their little family. And then he falls back asleep.

Tomorrow’s a busy day. And some shit is probably going to happen. But as long as he has this, he knows it will be all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time to say goodbye, at least for now :) I have a couple of adjutant pieces to this story that I might write and publish either as another epilogue or a stand alone. But we'll see :) 
> 
> Before I go celebrate the upcoming year, a huge THANK YOU to alter_alterego, lonelybridge, anon.iguess – your comments were often much better than the story itself! nothing brought me more pleasure than reading your reaction to each chapter!!!
> 
> AND THANK YOU Baker2012, Mstyles, Rain_and_Fire, MyFavoriteSong, , SouthernB3lle, zhangBL, OllylovesMickeyandIan, ruidoblanco, LeaBugg, IanMick4Eva, rosebudblond, Fangirlreader17, lilbatfacedgirl, missgardian, whoareyouandwhyshouldicare, Lizi, metaphoricheart, Saraffe, maryellen590, sunnylil, Elizabeth Evans, emmilian, lamandr2, heartbloom, Killmongurl, ptrntv, Shay, writingis, MickeyIan69, ConsultingPsychopath for your comments and support. 
> 
> AND THANK YOU, everybody who read this story!

**Author's Note:**

> One thing that I want to address is the timeline. Shameless canon timeline does not make any sense from season 5 onward (or at least it did not to me), but that's how it works in my head and this fic.  
> Mar'15 - Gallavich get together and Yev is born (end of season 4)  
> Late Oct'15 - Ian breaks up with Mickey and he gets arrested  
> Late spring'16 - Ian becomes EMT, Frannie is born, Fiona's wedding not-happens  
> Summer/Autumn/early winter'16 - Season 7 happens, Ian breaks up with Caleb, meets Trevor  
> February'17 - Mickey escapes prison


End file.
